


First Harvests

by Gryphonrhi



Series: Aidan-verse 1: Arrivals and Introductions [7]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryphonrhi/pseuds/Gryphonrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immortality goes to morons and geniuses alike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Harvests

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: No, I don't own Duncan, Rich, Methos or anyone else you know from the series. If I did, we'd have had more fun that last season. No infringement is intended, and this certainly isn't for profit. Rysher: Panzer/Davis control them, I know. Aidan Logan, on the other hand, and any other original characters, are mine.  
> Rated: NC-17 for enthusiastic m/f sex and for, um, highly implied m/m sex? Well, m/m fantasies? Oh, just read it. You'll know the good parts when you get there!

Rich breezed into the dojo, shedding his jacket as he came in, and looked around for Mac. Okay, so he was running early. He'd expected to be in on the 3rd -- instead, here it was late on the 1st. The days had just been too damn gorgeous to go slow, the temperature perfect when you were on a motorcycle running 75 mph on a highway with no cops looking. He'd lost the last race and was out of the season, for this year anyway. Not a problem, he'd done well enough overall that he'd get in again next year. But for now all he wanted was to get on into Seacouver and see Mac for a few weeks before one of them headed back out again. With Tessa gone, neither of them had much family left.

When he felt another immortal, Mac turned around and headed downstairs, sword behind his back. Rich, meanwhile took the stairs two at a time, hand on the hilt of his sword under the coat, calling, "Mac! Hey, Mac!"

"Rich!" Duncan set the sword down and hugged his latest student fiercely. "You're early, is everything okay?" He stepped back to study the younger immortal. Red-blond curls had been cut short again, sensible for someone who spent so much time in a motorcycle helmet. But the muscle tone was good, the eyes clear; Rich looked like a young man in his prime, all strength and energy.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mac, it's just been a long season. ' I was ready to get back here, see you, drink some of Joe's beer, and listen to people talk about something other than carburetors, wind resistance, and track conditions." Rich managed to sound jaded and world-weary, but the blue eyes gleamed with merriment and enthusiasm. "Besides, have you been out there? The weather's great!"

Duncan grinned even wider. "Yeah, it is. Got plans for the afternoon?"

"No, you?" Rich looked his teacher and friend over. He looked the same as ever, no surprise for an immortal. Same dark hair, cut recently maybe. It was just barely to his shoulders now. Mac still looked strong enough, controlled enough, to take just about any opponent. On second thought, though, the clothes were better than usual.

"So, business meeting or hot date? Should I go catch up with Joe instead?"

"Neither. Going to a religious festival; so is Joe. Grab a shower and get changed. I'll call and tell her I'm bringing one more." Duncan carefully didn't laugh at the chagrin on Richie's face. "Rich. Trust me. You'll enjoy this. Besides, are you telling me you're not hungry?"

"Hey, breakfast was a while ago. Religious festival, huh? I thought the Greek Orthodox Festival ran earlier in the summer. Yeah, why not? I'll go get my stuff off the bike and get cleaned up." He bounced down the stairs, whistling, and Duncan started laughing.

"Greek, huh? You're in for a shock, Rich." He returned his sword to its place by the door and picked up the phone, dialing a number so familiar now that his hands punched it in before his brain thought the digits.

The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked up. A cheerful female voice spoke, saying, "Well, only you know if you have the right number. I can't get to the phone right now, and the attack Chihuahuas never can get to it, thank the Gods -- saves on buying new phones. Anyway--" The same voice layered over itself, and Duncan heard Aidan laugh and say, "Whoever it is, hold on!"

A beep sounded in his ear and the answering machine cut off. "Logan. So do you have the right number?"

"You mean this isn't Druids R Us? Damn, I guess I'll have to try directory assistance."

"Dhonnchaidh, how are you? You are still coming to eat, aren't you? Sorry I took so long getting to the phone; I had chopped tomato all over my hands." The voice sounded both merry and pleased, with a faint lilt to it. When she was angry or precise, Duncan remembered, the accent switched to a very clear, biting English tone, but for now she sounded like a woman whose parents had walked the soft green sod of Ireland.

"Oh, I'll be there, but I may be a bit late. Can you feed one more person who eats like two?" He leaned against the counter as they talked, seeing Rich come back in. The younger immortal grinned at the question, completely unabashed, waved, and headed toward the shower.

"Certainly. It's Lammas, dearheart, you're supposed to cook too much, it's traditional. I could feed another four beyond your friend with no effort at all. I'm used to people dropping in on me today."

"Well, give him a chance to get showered and we'll be over. Call it an hour, including getting there. Do you need me to bring anything?"

"More beer wouldn't hurt. That or one of the young white wines -- maybe a nice dry Australian?"

"Will do. See you then." Mac hung up the phone, then walked over and stuck his head in the bathroom.

"Rich? I'm going to go run an errand, back in a minute."

Steam was already filling the room. Rich called out over the water, "Sure thing, Mac. I'll make this quick, but I've got some serious road grime to scour off. Give me fifteen, okay?"

"No rush, I told her you'd need thirty." He glanced around, noted with approval that Rich had his saber propped against the wall near the shower, as far away from the door as possible. ' "I'm glad you're back, Rich."

"Me too, Mac. Should I dress up for this?"

"Yeah, do that. See you in a few."

* * * *

The T-bird pulled behind a four-story brick building that looked like it had once been a warehouse. It wasn't a bad neighborhood but an inner-city area in one of the older parts of town, full of small businesses, students looking to live cheap while they went to school, and a mix of immigrants and their descendants. Rich broke off the discussion on what to get for Mary Lindsey's first birthday to ask, "So where's the festival?"

"We're here," came the reply. "Grab the beer, will you? Methos cleaned her out when he was in town."

Rich raised an eyebrow at him, exasperated and laughing at the same time. "Festival, huh?"

"Hey, festival refers to a time of special observances and a feast. This is both. Come on, Joe's already here." MacLeod unlocked the trunk, settled the case of wine onto his shoulder and let Rich grab the beer.

The younger immortal glanced at Joe's familiar car parked next to a recent model Range Rover. "Okay, and the religious part?"

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

They walked in the double doors from the parking lot and Rich whistled. "Damn, Mac, this is really something." He turned, admiring. The room had to be twenty feet by fifty, running the full length of the building. Where he could actually see walls, stucco rose fifteen feet to the ceiling dyed a shade of blue that reminded him of late fall afternoons -- maybe two or three shades deeper than robin's egg blue, but no less intense. Shelves ran down half the interior wall and wrapped around to one of the exterior walls full of books, curios, art, and more books. The shelves rose just over half the height of the walls anywhere windows didn't prevent it, an easy eight feet at least, was Rich's guess.

One table and four chairs would have fit into any corporate meeting room easily. In the center of the room, facing either two windows or the desk, a tile-covered end-table sat to the left of a big, overstuffed chair covered in faded, worn red velvet. A matching footstool huddled in its shadow. Four books were piled in a disorganized heap on the table.

Farther down, a large oriental rug lay under an 'L' shaped computer desk which was also covered with tomes, bookmarks, pieces of paper, pens and a large, functional letter-opener. The shelves next to the desk, however, presented their contents in an extremely precise order. Two computers sat on opposite ends of the desk; a printer and phone were connected to one. Wadded up paper, stacked file folders, and two battered paper airplanes surrounded the other. Packing boxes surrounded that one in a badly drawn-up skirmish line.

"Great place your friend has. I like the contrast between the dark beams in the ceiling and the brighter floor and walls. Nice, really nice. So what's her name, and will I get killed if I flirt with her?" Rich grinned at Mac, trying to get some idea of what was up. Music poured out of speakers mounted high on the walls, Meat Loaf's classic _Bat Out of Hell_ album, but Rich didn't see the stereo anywhere.

"No, and you'll find out, not necessarily in that order. Come on, come see the rest of the first floor." Mac closed the front door behind them; it locked automatically. Rich followed him past the filing cabinets and took in the next room. Tools hung on the walls, wooden horses and lumber were neatly arranged, a pallet of bricks sat off to one side. On one table sat the pieces of a broken sword. Half of the items in the room held no meaning for him, despite some of the projects he had watched Mac handle or helped on, but Rich had the distinct impression that this was a very orderly place to carry out some very complicated work

As Duncan squatted to pull up the grate on the freight elevator, wine still balanced on one shoulder, Rich shook his head. "What is it with immortals and wide open rooms and elevators? I mean, Mac, this is a huge workshop." Except for a freight elevator, and the half-bath next to it, the room took up the rest of the first floor, sprawling thirty feet across and fifty long. "She is an immortal, isn't she?"

As they ascended Rich felt immortal presence slide across his skin, a rippling, pulsing sensation carrying a sense of pleasure, contentment, and laughter. "My God, what is that? I guess she is an immortal." The impression felt undeniably female somehow.

Mac pulled up the grate on the second floor and commented mildly, "Yeah, she is." He sounded -- and felt -- amused. He had watched the startlement on Richie's face, noticed his friend's quick observations and appraisal. It should be very interesting to see what he and Aidan made of each other. No worry that they would have any trouble or start a fight at least. She held strictly to the old codes of guest law, hospitality, and insult prices. As an invited visitor at her table, Rich was completely safe whether he knew it or not.

Rich stepped out and turned around, receiving an impression of plants and solid, comfortable furniture, of wide, clear spaces, polished wood and open windows everywhere. Then Joe and a woman he'd never met before turned to face him from where they had been talking by a kitchen table, and his attention focused in on her. Every immortal had this instinctive reaction to another, this focusing down until the fight began or your subconscious decided he/she was safe.

She stood there, one eyebrow slightly raised, grey eyes wide and alert. Deep brown hair had been pulled smoothly back from her face and the ends fell down around her neck and ears. Silver loop earrings shifted as she tilted her head minutely to one side, hands on her hips. Charcoal grey cotton pants ran up long legs to a crimson silk vest. Wide shoulders and strong arms, powerful forearms -- Rich had no doubt she had a blacksmith's grip. And him with a case of beer balanced on one shoulder and his sword in his jacket. Then she smiled widely and he really looked at her face.

Not pretty, certainly not beautiful. Her nose was too long, her chin too sharp, but creamy pale skin, dark, well-shaped eyebrows, thick lashes and that smiling mouth gave her a striking attractiveness that quite a few women would have happily settled for. Her grey eyes radiated a pleasure that included Rich without thinking twice about it as she called out, "Fifty-seven minutes, Duncan. Nicely done. The last bread is just cool enough to cut and Joe has only made his second threat to start without you."

She stepped over to Rich and took the case from him, hefting it smoothly and setting it down on the floor under some shelves she seemed to be using as a pantry. Rich grinned back at her, surprised to see that her hair wasn't short after all. She had it coiled up and pinned with two slender jeweled rods or stilettos.

Duncan set the wine on the island and began loading bottles into the built-in wine rack. "Aidan, this is my latest student, Richard Ryan. Rich, this is a good friend of mine, Aidan Logan. Ramirez trained her, so we're all line-kin."

Aidan cheerfully replied, "As if I wouldn't guess when you walked in with a handsome young redheaded immortal. You'll get yours, Duncan MacLeod. One of these days, I'll introduce you to all of my students -- including the ones you already know. Rich, I'm glad to finally meet you. Be welcome in my house and at my table."

"Thanks. Nice to meet you, too. Did Mac say you studied with Ramirez?" Rich reached to help with the food but she laughed and waved him toward the table.

"Yes, I did, but sit down, please. Questions later, for now we eat."

Joe had waited just long enough to be sure there wouldn't be a problem. "Rich, good to see you. Grab a seat, take a load off." A bartender to the end, the greying man passed the youngest immortal a cold Coke and settled into a chair to talk to his friend while Aidan and Mac finished moving food to the table.

Rich studied the variety and amount of food and asked, "So who's still coming?"

Aidan set two wooden cutting boards loaded with warm loaves of bread and bread knives on the table, then commented, "No one that I know of, but I traditionally hold an open house today and by now probably two dozen of my immortal friends know I'm here. Some of Joe's employees are coming by tonight when they get off shift, and a couple of the regulars may be by for dinner." She chuckled as she turned to bring the cold salads out of the refrigerator. "Who knows, anyone could show up. I don't worry about it today."

Duncan counted five different kinds of breads; olives; tabouleh; marinated vegetables; a salad with tuna and mixed greens; a large terra cotta bowl full of fresh plums, kiwis, star fruit, apples, cherries, and apricots; a plate of sliced ham and roast beef; cold shrimp and cocktail sauce; a platter of cheeses; and all the appropriate condiments. The table had been set for five, he saw. Large water glasses sat at every place, as did wine goblets.

Aidan moved around filling the glasses with ice, then water or tea depending on preferences. ' Rich poured the Coke into his as she asked, "By the way, Duncan, I certainly appreciate it, but why did you bring me a case each of the wine and beer?"

"You keep inviting me over to dinner, so I bought something to drink with it." He opened some of the wine and tilted it questioningly toward her glass.

Aidan nodded. "Please. But the blue goblet first, if you would. Rich, wine, beer, or stick with Coke?"

"Some beer would be great. Umm, who's the extra place setting for?" He waved a hand toward the blue goblet and plate which sat at the end of the table. Aidan had placed her glass next to the empty spot and was calmly putting food out onto the plate, apparently for an expected guest.

Aidan glanced at him, then smiled again. "For the Gods. Only fair to give some back."

While he was still digesting that, she passed him a cold beer from the fridge and brought Joe some lemon for his tea. "May the Gods bless us all. Joe, would you please cut me some of the orange-cranberry bread?"

Duncan dug into the tabouleh, looking forward to it. Aidan had a particularly good recipe for the parsley and cracked bulghur salad. Since he had settled down in front of the cold meats, Rich started filling plates that were passed to him. Joe sliced breads, asking about ingredients as he went.

"Well, let's see, that's the orange and cranberry; it's also got walnuts. It's really more of a breakfast dish, but why not? The yellowish one next to it is sweet potato and jalapeño. The round loaf is honey and whole wheat. The braided loaf has eggs and poppy seeds. The herb bread has basil, garlic, rosemary, thyme, parmesan, and beer. That's most of it, I think. Don't even ask about the three rising on the counter. I'd have to look at the dough to be sure. I had trouble deciding which ones to cook this year."

Rich grinned and said, "Joe, half a slice of everything and then I'll sort out seconds."

Duncan and Aidan looked at each other and laughed. All she said was "I like the way he thinks. By all means, try all of it. It's meant to be enjoyed."

"So, which Gods? I mean, I take it this is a holy day for you?" Rich heaped the salad into her bowl, then passed it back. His own plate came back loaded with slices of meat, slices of bread, and both tabouleh and some marinated vegetables. Aidan sat and pared a kiwi with a tiny knife pulled from a pocket.

"Oh, today is Lugh Long Arm's day, the festival of Lughnasa or Lammas or Loaf-Mass depending on who you talk to. It's the first of the harvest festivals, of which there are three. Basically this is a day to say 'To the Hells with it, I'm not weeding. It's too hot to work.' Time to make fresh bread with the first harvest of the grains, taste-test the year's first beer or wine, and sit and gossip with friends in the shade."

Joe slathered hot mustard over the sweet potato bread, piled ham on top and bit down. When he could speak again, he commented, "Isn't this traditionally one of the days of sacrifice, too?"

Aidan shrugged. "Sacrifice or execution, yes. Time's coming to rend and plow the Lady's Consort. John Barleycorn's days are numbered from henceforth but he'll be back in the spring." She sliced the kiwi, and looked up to see who wanted some.

Rich shook his head, amazed. "So who's Lugh?"

Aidan rolled her eyes. "Such a glorious name, Risteard, and no idea...." She caught his eye. "Sorry, I shouldn't pick on you so. You've not had time to pick up that many languages yet. Dianecht, the healer of the Tuatha de Danaan, had a grandson who became a hero, a man of great wisdom and sight. Lugh of the Strong Arm, Lugh Samildanach, the artisan who had mastered all crafts. Sometime -- this afternoon if you like, or one rainy day this winter -- I will tell you some of his stories."

Rich propped his chin on one fist. "If one of my teachers in school had wanted me to read it I'd have run screaming, but you make it sound interesting. What are the too awful day what? Sounds like the French!"

Duncan snorted, looking scandalized; Aidan accidentally inhaled wine when she tried to laugh while drinking; but Joe chuckled and answered, "Tuatha de Danaan, Rich, the people of Dana. One of the early races in Ireland, according to legend. The fey folk, Rich, the people Underhill."

Aidan got her breathing straightened out and said, "They are the Daoine Sidhe, Rich, the elves Tolkien wrote of, the fairy court of _Midsummer's Night Dream_. The glorious and awe-full people of whom Tam Lin fell foul, the Queen of Air and Darkness who led him for nine and forty days through rivers of blood and across the stony wastes."

She spoke the name as 'thee-nuh she' and Rich repeated it softly, hearing it echo against something inside of him and settle into place. "Yeah, I'd like to hear the stories sometime."

Aidan smiled at him across the table. "Whenever you like and we can spare time. Traditionally they're for winter nights, but why stay stuck in a rut?"

"Says the woman who still swears in Homeric Greek?" Duncan grinned at her.

"This from the man who's used one name and two sword types in four centuries?"

"Hey! Five, and I used spear there for a while, too. At least I've gotten a hair cut in the last twenty years."

Aidan gave him an indignant look. "I will have you know I made a great flapper, bob haircut and all. And besides -- unlike certain Scots, I go to movies that post-date Nixon's presidency and don't have subtitles." Joe choked on that one and Rich acquired a sudden interest in his beer.

"Aidan, flappers were seventy years ago, not twenty. And I've taken a student in the last fifty years."

"Do you know how long it takes to grow hair past your waist? And Rich, what kind of sword do you use?"

Rich hastily swallowed a bite of the herb bread and replied, "Saber. Why?"

Aidan's eyebrows went up in surprise, then her eyes narrowed and she turned to Duncan. "You haven't been teaching him katana drills with a saber, have you?"

"Well, some. I--"

"Duncan! What were you thinking?! Katanas and sabers are two different weapons, not least for hilt and hand grips."

"I don't tell you how to fight saber--"

"You can't, I was fighting saber and winning before Connor was born," she interrupted tartly.

"Aidan, give me a second here!" Duncan grinned at her and they were off again, arguing saber technique versus katana. She maintained that the body positioning and balance point for the weapons were different; he argued arm and shoulder movement technicalities and cutting technique. Rather than keep choking on their drinks, Joe and Rich promptly started discussing local music prospects. Somewhere in there, just as Rich had agreed to go listen to a concert with Joe in a couple weeks, he heard his name mentioned by Aidan.

"Oh, why not? Rich, do you want some training?"

The youngest immortal looked up immediately, face already lighting up. "What kind?"

"Oh, saber, dagger, general viciousness. Interested?"

Rich cut his eyes toward Duncan to see what his sometime teacher thought and realized Duncan was all in favor of the idea.

"Go for it, Rich. It would be good for you to practice with someone else, and Aidan's rough enough with saber and dagger that we generally trade matches."

Rich blinked. "She beats you that often?"

Joe laughed. "Oh, yeah. They spar for whose turn it is to cook dinner half the time, Rich. I've seen Aidan beat Connor two bouts out of three when he was in town."

Aidan listened, amused to hear herself discussed her in the third person. "Of course I beat Connor, but only when he's in a good mood. Neither of us has gone to quite the scale of viciousness that I was trained in, although he's rougher than Duncan -- at least with me.

"Rich, take your time on the decision. I won't be offended by a 'no'. But you're my youngest brother and studying my weapon of choice. If you want to spar or train, let me know."

"I get a sister out of this? I always wanted one. Aidan, you have a deal." He reached out a hand, only to see her shake her head.

"No, you already have one. Ramirez trained me and Connor; that makes Connor my brother. Connor trained Duncan, Duncan trained you. Both of you are my brothers, too, or maybe nephews. Sparring and/or training is just part of the fringe benefits as it were, if you want."

"Yeah, that'd be great. When do we start?" He waited to see if she would shake and found he'd been right; she had one hell of a grip.

"Tomorrow if you like. Sorry, today's my day to goof off." Aidan sprawled back in her chair, nibbling at some fruit and cheese. As usual after cooking most of the day, her appetite had vanished. She sipped at the wine Duncan had brought and decided she liked it, even if it was a bit dry.

"Sounds good. So what's this salad, anyway? It tastes great." Rich pointed at the tabouleh he had tried and the conversation switched to food then places visited and taller tales of those places as Aidan's stereo poured randomly through ten very different albums. Rich heard classic rock, Irish hammer dulcimer, Arabic, trance, and a hellacious percussion group he'd never heard before.

After they had all eaten until they were stuffed, Duncan ordered Aidan to go sit down, saying that the guys would clean up and put away the food. "Yes, o my master, I live to serve and obey," was the sarcastic reply as she filled a plastic gallon jug and moved around the house, watering plants.

Rich laughed at that and helped the other men put up the food. "Hey, Mac, how is it you know where everything in here goes, anyway?"

Joe looked up from where he was rinsing dishes. "Same way I do. Aidan hates cooking for one."

Aidan moved behind Joe, warning him with a gentle hand on one shoulder, and stole the faucet to refill the water jug. "Call it a character flaw. Besides, it lets me try out different recipes."

"Hell of a flaw. I like the sweet potato bread, too. That's a wild one."

Aidan laughed cheerfully as she checked the herbs over the sink. "You should see what I cook around Samhain. Pumpkin and chocolate chip muffins."

"Huh. Well, hey, I tried the sweet potato and jalapeño, why not?" The kitchen being clean, Rich settled down to investigate the CD library. "Are you the one who sent M-- Adam the Sarah McLachlan music?"

She turned and studied him for a second, then threw Duncan a scolding look. ' The only emotion she allowed to escape her voice was casual interest as she asked, "Oh, the tape with 'Possession' and 'Ice Cream?' Yes, that was me. Why?"

"Just wondering. Good music, I was kind of surprised he liked it."

Aidan snickered. "Oh, Adam will listen to damn near anything once, although he maintains country music is a bastardized abomination of perfectly good folk music. But he'll listen to more rap than I will."

"Hmm. What about Green Day? And Nine Inch Nails?"

"Harsher than I like, and NIN strikes me as suicide on vinyl, but I do like most techno. Great for dancing and fighting. What did you think of _Mortal Kombat_?" Aidan settled onto the floor next to him, reaching for the CD.

"Come on, don't tell me you went to a movie that cheesy?"

"Went to it? I own a copy of it. The plot needed some work, but _Ghostbusters II_ had worse stupidity, and the martial artists in it are flatly excellent. Ever seen a leopard style fighter?" She pulled the video out, dropping it onto the VCR and laughed. "Besides, it's a great way to harass Connor."

Duncan immediately turned and asked, "How?"

Aidan smiled wickedly and replied, "Wait until you see Lord Raydon. The actor even laughs like Connor. ' I've been accusing him of working in Hollywood ever since I saw this."

Joe agreed, chuckling. "Yeah, he does look like Connor, doesn't he? Even sounds like him, same smart-ass tough guy attitude. Fun movie. Put it in, would you? I don't have to head out for a few hours yet."

"Joe, you can't be serious," Duncan protested. "I mean, _Mortal Kombat_? Come on."

"Duncan, sit down and watch. You'll enjoy it, I promise." Aidan switched the stereo over to run the movie sound through it and started the tape. "Besides, consider this ammunition for the next time Adam complains about your movie-going habits!"

* * * *

Duncan stretched and laughed. "God, Raydon does look and sound like Connor. No wonder he told me it was terrible movie!"

Rich grabbed another handful of popcorn and asked, "So now what?"

Joe shrugged. "Well, I've got to go tend bar. Aidan, lunch was great. I suspect Mike and Renee will be over later for dinner. Do I need to warn people to ring the bell?"

"Of course; the door locks automatically, remember. Come on, Duncan, the food's settled. Come spar. You, too, Rich, I want to see what I'm going to be dealing with." Aidan stretched long and lazy, then headed toward the dressers in the corner. Without a second thought she stripped off the vest, revealing a shortsword strapped to her back and no bra. Richie's mouth went dry as she pulled off the sword harness and yanked a leather halter over her head.

Duncan grinned watching Rich's jaw drop farther when Aidan peeled the pants off as well and pulled out some shorts. He and Joe knew about Aidan's casual attitude towards nudity; it hadn't occurred to the Scot to warn his student. "I'd ask what happened to your 'day off,' but why bother? Your idea of a vacation is goofing off for two hours. Come on, Rich, there are extra sweats and shorts upstairs; both of us will want to change. She plays a little rough."

Aidan turned around, still fastening the button on her cut-off jeans. "Hah. You're just used to more polite methods of training. I notice you don't leave your low left open anymore." Swift, practiced movements laced the front of the leather halter snugly into place and then tucked the cord ends in.

"No, I don't. Even I get things through my 'thick, Scottish head' sometimes!" he mimicked.

"That was the whole idea. I see it worked, too." And she stuck her tongue out at him.

Rich looked back and forth. "Uh, guys, some of us missed Act One on this play?"

"He wasn't guarding his leg enough, so I stabbed him to make a point. I did warn him twice first. What's the saying, three strikes and you're out?" Aidan hung the sheathed shortsword next to the bed, on the side away from the freight elevator.

Joe picked up his cane. "I think I'm gonna go tend bar. Much safer. Thanks for inviting me, Aidan. Rich, glad you're home."

"You stabbed Mac?"

Aidan shrugged. "Yes, but he left himself open. After four centuries, he should know better. I need to see you fight before I know what standards to hold you to. Don't worry," and she chuckled. "I don't usually stab new students." She retrieved her saber and dagger from the coat hung by the elevator as she walked Joe to it.

Rich shook his head, grinning. "Yeah, usually she says. Damn, Mac, couldn't you have warned me before I said yes?"

* * * *

_One week later_

Aidan and Rich sprawled on the warm, sun-lit floor, panting and soaked in sweat. Aidan had blood on her as well, although the nicks had healed. The third floor had been deliberately left open for workouts, broken only by the freight elevator and the full bath built onto it, and Rich had been glad for the available space more than once in the past week. Running a marathon could seem less strenuous than a training session with his new mentor.

Finally she sat up, then stood. Walking over to Rich, Aidan reached a hand down to the young redhead. "Come on, up before your muscles stiffen. You know the routine, Rich. Go climb in the shower, I'm going to go start lunch."

Rich groaned as he stood up, one hand rubbing still-healing bruises. "You'd think after a week I'd be getting used to this. Does this ever get better?"

Aidan gave him a rueful smile. "Yes, in about a month. Surely you knew this already from training with Duncan. He strikes me as one who will get the best out of a student."

"Yeah, he is." He saw the spots of blood on her and frowned. "Damn, you'd think I could pull the blows better than that. Sorry."

"You're young. At the speeds I'm pressing you to, control is as much a matter of muscle memory as skill and you've not had the time to drill in the memories." She shrugged. "I expected it. It's the price you pay for training one of the newer immortals."

"You make this sound normal."

"That's because it is. I've trained several students in my day, Rich. For being four years into the Game, you're much farther along than most. You and Duncan have done very well, don't lose sight of that." Aidan studied him narrow-eyed, then nodded. "Get showered, sit in the sauna for a little while if you need to, then come down. I'm going to start some lunch and clean up myself."

"Right, give me about twenty and I'll be down and help." Rich headed for the shower gratefully, stripping off his t-shirt as he went. Aidan meanwhile went down the stairs and into her living quarters on the second floor. A couple of paper towels wiped off the worst of the blood and sweat; once she'd washed her hands, Aidan set to work on lunch, taking Rich's legendary appetite into account.

True to his word, he was there in twenty minutes. Aidan nodded to him and commented, "If you'll finish washing and cutting the radishes for the salad, then start putting together those sandwiches, I'll get a quick shower myself. Salad dressing is there, fruit there, plates there."

The younger immortal shooed her toward the shower. "Hey, after a week, I think I can manage this. Go on, you look like you'd love the hot water and I left you plenty." Rich moved toward her stereo, calling, "What haven't I heard that I'll like?"

Over her shoulder, Aidan replied, "The new Rusted Root isn't bad at all, or you might try Stan Freburg's _Greatest Hits_, if you're in a mood for comedy."

When she got out of the shower, wearing a short robe for the sake of Rich's modesty and toweling her hair dry, he had lunch ready and on the table. To her surprise, what was playing was Clannad's _Magical Ring_ and Rich was reading _The Isle of the Mighty_. He glanced up and grinned at her when she walked past, then returned his attention to the book while she got dressed.

Aidan poured both of them large glasses of iced tea and sat down to dig into the salad. "So, how do you like the _Mabinogion_ so far?"

"Man, this is great. It reads like a good sci-fi movie, you know? How old is this?"

Aidan chuckled as Richie dug in. As usual he'd made her about half as much food as he did for himself. "Oh, the books were written earlier this century; the _Mabinogion_ on which they were based was first written down in the fourteenth century. The stories go back much farther than that. I heard some of them around the third century AD, in one form or another, and they probably go back farther still. Hmm, after you finish Evangeline Walton's books, do you want to continue in the tales of the Celts or shall I point you at some other things?"

Rich thought about that, and took another bite of his sandwich. After he finished that and washed it down with the tea, he nodded. "These are great. If you think I'll like it, point me at it."

"Ah, the joys of relatively painless education. Well, at this stage, anyway. This is where I lure you in, you see," and she twirled an imaginary mustache as he laughed, "and then later it gets bad. That's when you start reading the different translations and asking me or Methos which one is right, and we shrug and tell you that in English either one works, but you might want to learn Gaelic if you're really interested."

Rich blinked. "Wait. You know about Methos?"

Aidan sipped her tea, then commented, "Oh, yes. I should. Before Ramirez trained me, he did."

That tidbit brought a dumbfounded stare. "You're kidding! Wait, I thought you were out of the line of Ramirez."

Aidan took pity on him. "Rich, easy, I'm still your sister -- I'm considered to be out of both lines. I spent twenty years, give or take, studying with Methos, then another fifteen and some studying with him and Ramirez both, mostly Ramirez. By that point, Methos had gotten restless; he went wandering a fair bit, always circling back to see us. But who did you think trained Ramirez?"

"I didn't...." Rich trailed off, thinking hard. Neither Connor or Duncan had ever mentioned it, and he hadn't thought to ask. _I mean, Ramirez would have been a couple centuries older than Aidan if he still lived. You just don't ask when the mountain range showed up, do you? Damn, that was dumb. Huh, wonder if Mac knows this?_

"I assure you, he didn't spring forth from a rock, full-grown, fully-trained, and overdressed."

That got a laugh out of Rich. "Yeah, Connor always calls him the Spanish peacock."

"Well, he was actually Egyptian, but he did like to dress well. However, back to our original topic -- a lot of the older immortals draw many of their attitudes and opinions from Roman and Hellenic thought. I'd like to start you on some of Mary Renault's fiction for the Greek thought, then turn you loose later on a good translation of Marcus Aurellius for some of the Roman attitudes."

"If it's this interesting, sure. But why are you handing me some of this? I mean, I know you like the Celtic stories, and it's great stuff, but what's the point?"

Aidan passed him the tea pitcher absently as she tried to frame the concepts. Finally she said, "Did you ever wonder why Duncan, Methos and I read so much and so many different things?"

"I just thought you all liked to read. I mean, I like all kinds of movies. I take it that's not it, huh?"

"Oh, in part. I could happily spend days browsing a good library, and Methos is nearly addicted to learning and knowledge. And Duncan was raised to be what these days they would call an over-achiever. But no, that's not it.

"We study other cultures, other languages, to have some idea what our opponents may try. We also do it because we find it interesting, at least the three of us do, but honestly, my first incentive was to survive the Game. For example, one of the fights I got into on this continent in the late 1690s -- the Indian involved didn't mind fighting a woman.... But had I shown fear or fought in a coward's way and he'd won, I would have been tortured for days, maybe weeks, before he took my head. And he'd have mutilated the body when he was done."

Rich flinched and Aidan said quietly, "That's the way it was, Rich. For him, at least. But it helps to know what you're up against, to have some idea what they may or may not do. I know immortals who will give you an option if they win and you fought well -- their bed or your head.

"I've known immortals who took the option, too. These are things you need to think about ahead of time. There's no shame in it so far as I'm concerned. But it's not a choice I can make for you, and it's not one to be made on the spur of the moment either."

Rich thought about that for awhile, while Aidan sipped her tea and waited, giving him the time to consider, to decide what he needed to ask. Eventually he commented, "Well, you don't believe in shielding students from reality, do you?"

"No, I don't. You're getting topics that I would normally give immortals in their tenth or fifteenth year of training, not the fifth, but I think you're ready for it."

"Huh. Okay, thanks, I think. Can I ask...?"

"Ask. I said I'd tutor in general viciousness, this is part of it."

"Have you ever been tortured?"

Aidan closed her eyes, both hands wrapped around her glass, then she looked back up at the younger immortal. "Yes. More than once. I also spent twelve years as a slave in a Roman brothel. And before you wonder, yes, I've been raped. Usually by mortals, but once by another immortal and one of these days I may be so lucky as to cross paths with him again. I think I can take him."

Rich said quietly, "Yeah, you really want to kill them for it, but you don't think you'll ever feel clean again. Or safe."

Aidan reached out for his hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. When was this? Can you talk about it?"

"Yeah, it was a while ago." He shrugged, a bit surprised himself that he had mentioned it, but he held on to her hand while he talked. "I was in another new foster home, I was fifteen and cocky, and apparently he liked his beer a bit too much. Once he'd had a few beers he liked me too much. I ran away, never looked back. Never ended up in a foster home again until I was seventeen and Mac and Tessa took me in. It's a good thing Mac's such a straight-arrow or I'd have been scared outta my wits."

Aidan studied him narrowly. "Rich, is it going to be a problem in the future if Mac decides he can enjoy male lovers? Most immortals are bisexual, you know. Well, by the time they hit, say, five centuries or so."

Rich blinked. "Really? Huh. I can't see Mac doing it."

"Is it going to be a problem if he does?"

"You think he's going to sometime soon? I gotta see this."

"Your color's back. You're feeling better. And yes, I think it's very likely, although not you. He's starting to think of you more as a friend than a student, but the teacher-student bond is still there. He's not going to make a pass at you, Rich. And I can't see him not taking 'no' for an answer anyway."

"Nah, it won't be a problem, but I don't think it's gonna come up anyway. Wait a second -- who? The only guys Mac hangs around with are Joe and Methos. I can't see Joe with another guy."

Aidan laughed merrily. "Neither can I. Joe doesn't have any objection to it, simply no interest."

"Hey, wait, after five centuries-- You mean you like both?" Rich adjusted himself in his seat, his jeans feeling a bit too snug at the thought of Aidan and, say, Amanda.

"Oh, I prefer men, no question, but yes, I've had female lovers."

"But how...?" He trailed off, trying to decide how to word it.

Aidan muttered, "Be glad I'm not Methos, he'd make you figure it out yourself." More loudly she replied, "Think about it, Rich. You meet a good-looking woman, you ask her out. Suppose you're lucky enough to get her in bed. Granted, it may well have been mile-long legs that got your attention, but if she can't hold a coherent conversation on anything that interests you, are you going to call her the next morning to see if she can meet you for lunch or a movie?"

He thought about that one, too, while they cleared the plates away and sat down to finish their tea. "Honestly, Aidan, it might take more than a couple nights, but I did learn my lesson with Kristen. Yeah, I'd end up dumping her. She'd drive me crazy. I've gotten used to you, and Amanda, and my friend Maria is nobody's fool, either. She's a damn good fashion model, and she's not stupid."

"Really? I'd like to meet her sometime. All right, then, think about this. What do you do when the person whose company you enjoy, whose opinion and approval you crave, doesn't have the plumbing you think you should be interested in? The best definition of love I've ever heard was from a twentieth century science fiction author. 'Love is that condition in which the welfare and happiness of another are essential to your own.' What happens when the person you love is the wrong gender?"

Rich thought about that one, sprawled out on Aidan's couch, listening idly to the classical music that had been next on the CD stack. After a long time, long enough that Aidan glanced over from tending her sword to see if he had fallen asleep, Rich commented, "Well, whatever I do, I'm going to try not to hurt him. If it happens. You sound pretty sure it will."

"If you live long enough? Almost certainly," came Aidan's quiet comment.

"Well, I hope I'm not so narrow-minded I won't at least try if I love him. Okay, Mac and who? Inquiring minds wanna know." Rich settled back to hear this one.

"Oh, why not. Don't bring this up with Duncan, by the way. He's still thinking about it, I suspect. Methos."

Rich blinked from sheer surprise then said, "You mean Methos is in love with Mac. Well, that would explain a few things. I wondered why the 5K immortal would spend so much time with somebody who's only made it to 400."

Aidan snickered. "5K immortal? I like it. He'll resent that immensely. Oh, that's wonderful. But actually, it's mutual and I think Duncan is still trying to decide what to do."

"So are you going to give him a kick in the pants too?" Rich grinned.

"I may have this same talk with him, actually. I'll think of something. But something needs to be done, they're going to make themselves miserable at this rate. That's stupid. Love is too damn rare to do this. Duncan helped beat that into my head, only fair I should return the favor." Aidan stood up and stretched. "Well, I promised to take the afternoon aikido class since Duncan had a departmental party to attend. Can I talk you into giving me a ride? I'll get him to drop me back off so I can scold him?"

Rich snorted at the idea. "Oh, yeah. But you don't really think Mac's going to go to bed with Methos, do you?"

Aidan rolled her eyes. "What would you care to bet?"

"Huh. How 'bout the loser buys the winner dinner? How soon?"

"Oh, say, the next five years, although I don't think it will take nearly so long."

"Five?! Yeah, I guess we've got time. Okay. Done. You think Methos will make a move that soon?" Rich gathered up his jacket and the bag with his workout clothes.

"Methos? Duncan's going to have to make the first move. Methos won't. And yes, that soon."

"Whoa, you think Mac's going to start this? Uh-uh, I can't see it."

Aidan activated the alarm before walking out into the still, humid air then sighed, "Storm coming. And yes, Duncan will have to. Methos won't jeopardize friendship over something as simple as patience. But I'll bet you another dinner that if they do, Mac initiates it."

"You're on. I like good seafood and since you'll be buying...."

* * * *

The last child from the aikido class bounced out, talking excitedly with her parents about the neat hold she had learned, and could they go to the zoo tomorrow? Aidan traded a sympathetic look with the frazzled father; he had enrolled his daughter in martial arts partly in hope of diverting some of her non-stop energy. Still chuckling, Aidan made a few notes for Duncan on some things she'd seen that he might or might not want to work with the children on. His class, his choice.

That done, she ran the push broom around the gym floor, trying to clean up a bit before the next wave of students hit. When the wave of immortal presence poured over her, Aidan stepped into a shadow in the dojo before she ever thought about it, quickly pulling a katana off the wall. Whoever this was, she didn't know him.

The man striding through the doors stopped short, looking around, then continued forward, tulwar out. "I know you're here. Come out, come out, wherever you are." She appraised him quickly as he drew his sword. Short, maybe a couple inches shorter than she was, but he had shoulders like a linebacker and probably forty pounds of muscle she didn't have. No great surprise on someone using a blade as heavy as a tulwar, which was basically a scimitar with a wider blade. The other immortal also had green, spiked hair, a beer belly, a pierced nose, and could have posed as an advertisement for a bad Mad Max rip-off.

"I'm right here," Aidan replied, stepping out behind him as he moved forward, heavy boots noisy on the wooden floors. He turned to face her, not nearly as quickly as she would have spun under the circumstances, Aidan noted, and there were holes all around his defensive stance.

"Well, well. A Scottish groupie. I'm not here for you, slut. I want Ramirez' student."

Aidan smiled at him, a carefully pleasant expression, as she replied, "Congratulations. You found me."

"I want MacLeod, not some little bitch who thinks posing with a blade should win the fight."

"You should have been more specific. Your challenge is for the line of Ramirez. I accept. When and where shall we fight?"

"Like I said, I'm here for MacLeod, bitch. Go home and play with your dolls before I take your sword away and teach you manners."

"Your challenge was issued and has been accepted. MacLeod isn't here, you'll have to settle for me. Ask nicely and I'll have him come along to wait for the next bout. But turn your back without agreeing to the challenge and I take your head." Aidan hadn't moved an inch although her smile had gone feral. From behind her she felt another immortal approach and realized it was Duncan.

"I only came for one head, but I'll...." he trailed off, as the Highlander came into range. "Well, well, the gang's all here."

Duncan stepped into the dojo, katana drawn and at guard. "I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"I'm Ned White, and I'm here for your head, not your girlfriend's." The green-haired immortal moved toward Duncan and Aidan's katana whistled as it cut air in front of him, blocking his way.

"Ah, ah, idiot. Challenge is issued and accepted. You fight me first. From the smell you don't bathe in anything else, so I'll wash you in your own blood."

"He challenged you?" Duncan's growl caught Aidan's attention.

"He challenged the line of Ramirez. Last I looked that included me. I was here, you weren't, I accepted." She shrugged, body language implying she considered this perfectly normal.

"He came for me, Aidan, not you."

"MacLeod, I'm not fighting you, I'm fighting him." Aidan continued to watch White, part of her mind distracted with the question of what the hell Duncan's problem was.

"Shut up, bitch, I'm here for the fighter, not the fuckpiece."

Aidan and Duncan both snarled, "Shut up!" She continued, "One of us will fight you, never fear. After that comment, definitely me. Look, Duncan, either age before beauty, or ladies first. Either way, I get him."

Duncan glared at her. "You are not fighting my battles for me."

"Gods, no. The bastard stinks; he's insulting, offensive and repetitive; and his sartorial style hurts the eyes. I'm killing him as a community service. Come along, and if I lose, have at him."

Duncan drew a deep breath, exasperated and outraged, then switched to Gaelic. "I'm not Rich. I don't need to be protected. He came here for my head, damn it!"

"So he did. But Duncan, he came in with sword drawn looking for my teacher's line. Fine, so he found us. What's the problem? Shall I let you have my next fight in recompense?"

White cut in. "Age before beauty? You mean you're older 'n him?"

Aidan tilted her head to one side, teeth bared in something that was not a smile. "Yes."

"Fine. Wait a sec. He said Duncan MacLeod."

Aidan couldn't help it. She started snickering. "Oh, Gods, this is beautiful. Don't tell me you thought you were challenging Connor MacLeod."

"Word is, the Highlander runs a martial arts school in Seacouver. Who the fuck is he?" Frustration did not look well on his face, but under a nose broken that many times, nothing did.

In chorus, Aidan and Duncan replied, "Same clan, different vintage."

"Aidan, I've known Connor longer."

"True, very true." Aidan watched the challenger get increasingly upset and she grew more amused by the second. _This is thoroughly ridiculous...._ "On the other hand, he's looking for a student of Ramirez; that's me."

"I'm here for MacLeod, damn it." White looked back and forth between the two immortals, having finally realized they were between him and the only door.

"Oh, shut up. Sweet Gods, you can tell immortality isn't distributed along with brains! Look, moron, who do you think you are? The Kurgan lost to Connor! I'm almost tempted to give you his address and go along to watch the slaughter." Aidan snarled the words, trying to impart wisdom through sheer intensity, as logic obviously wasn't working.

Duncan finally found his sense of humor and started chuckling. "Y'know, this does look incredibly silly. All right, White, or Green, or whatever your name is--"

"Ned White, Highlander."

"Right, whatever. Eight o'clock tonight at the old lighthouse. One of us will be there to fight you, as soon as we sort out who gets the pleasure or the duty. Now get out of my dojo." Duncan waved White out with his free hand and Aidan backed cautiously away to give him room.

"Where is it?"

Exasperated, Duncan growled, "Buy a map. You can read, can't you?"

"Oh. Yeah." White left still muttering, barely remembering to tuck his sword away on the way out. Aidan and Duncan somehow controlled themselves until they heard the all too predictable motorcycle start up. Once he caught her eye, though, they both gave in to gales of laughter. They finally ended up on the floor, swords at their sides and still grinning.

Aidan asked, "Feeling better? You were in something of a temper when you got in."

Duncan rolled his eyes, irritated again. "You mean I don't have lipstick all over me and paw marks on my shoulders?"

"Not on the jacket lapels, anyway." Aidan leaned over, brushed at his collar, and smiled. "Not here, either. So what happened, dearheart? And do you want a backrub before or after we continue this discussion?"

"After. No, one of the other faculty members got divorced this winter; apparently she is completely recovered and very interested. She won't take 'no' for an answer, and I'm getting tired of being polite. And then I came in and you were taking a challenge in my dojo, and--"

"And you felt like I was trying to protect you? I don't think of you as a child, Dhonnchaidh, have I been treating you as one? If so, I apologize profoundly."

Duncan drew a deep breath, then another. "No. I was in a bad mood and took it out on you. Sorry. If anything, I think I may be jealous that you and Rich are doing so well."

Aidan stood up and resheathed the katana. "I'm glad you keep these here. No need to apologize. I should thank you, you know. Yes, Rich and I are getting along well, but he's taking so nicely to what I'm teaching because you did an excellent job. Have I stolen too much of his time from you?'

Duncan stood up. "No, just... I never could get him to read or study."

"I'm six times your age, Dhonnchaidh, and I've trained more than twenty students. You learn a few tricks over the years. Practice does pay off." Aidan held out a hand to pull him off the floor. "Come along, if we're going to discuss who gets to kill Hygiene Boy, let's go do it someplace neutral like a booth at Joe's over iced tea."

"Fine, let me go ask Rich if he'd mind running the dojo for a while. Is he upstairs? You realize it's going to rain tonight?" Duncan stood, heading to the phone.

"That will be the only thing that makes the fight interesting, most like. Yes, he's upstairs, he said something about catching up on laundry. I'll go change back into my street clothes and we can go."

* * * *

Joe smiled and waved to two of his favorite patrons as they came in, although Aidan was also technically his part-time employee. "Damn, how are you two doing? Haven't seen you both in one place since Lammas."

Aidan shrugged. "Been busy, Joe. I may go hiking next Sunday, though."

He shook his head admiringly. "You swore you'd get two-thirds of that translation work done by mid-August and go hit the trails. Congratulations, Aidan. Gonna make deadline, then?"

"Gods, yes. I have to, if I ever want another job from them, and better I do it than some of these idiots who can't believe the Romans had a sense of humor!" Aidan rolled her eyes, then dramatically put the back of one hand to her forehead, adopting a pompous tone and gloomy face. "Morals and ethics only, you do realize, my dear man! Only the most lofty of subjects need be discussed."

She laughed abruptly, dropping back to her usual tone and merry smile. "Remind me to read you some of the _Satyricon_, sometime, or perhaps some of Martial's works. Oh, hells, that little gossipmonger Suetonius! Sweet Lady defend us from guardians of the common good. Anyway, two iced teas if you would." A quick motion of Aidan's chin told Joe who she meant as she said, "He and I need to hold a minor disagreement, then we'll come be social."

Joe shook his head, a gusty sigh escaping as he did. "Okay, try to keep the collateral damage down. Tea's on the house, you two." The only other patrons were at the other side of the bar, playing darts by the jukebox they kept feeding.

Duncan sighed. "Thanks, Joe. This shouldn't be too bad."

"Yell if you need a referee." Joe passed them the iced teas and reached for the phone which had just started ringing. "Joe's, Joe speaking."

Aidan had turned toward the table, but she froze at Joe's next comment. "Okay, Detective Knight, how can I help you?"

Duncan turned back to see what was keeping her and raised an eyebrow at the worried look on her face. "What is it?"

She raised a hand, to cut off his words, and kept listening to Joe's side of the conversation. "An arson and probable murder? Detective, you do realize I'm on the other side of the continent from you? ... Uh-huh. No, I don't have any regulars by that name. What did he look like? ... No, he doesn't strike a chord. ... Really? Damn. Well, hold on a second, I have my calendar under the bar, let's see-- No, bartender on duty that morning was Renee. She went home an hour ago. ... I agree, if the call was only twenty seconds, I doubt she'd remember much. ... Right. Look, if you have any other questions feel free to call. For that matter, if you're ever in Seacouver stop by. ... Yeah, good luck, Detective."

Joe hung up, glanced at Aidan and saw the tension in her shoulders. "That was Detective Knight of the Toronto Police. Someone named Hans Clausewitz, living outside Toronto, is missing and presumed dead in Seacouver. His house burned down a couple weeks ago, too. Apparently, he made a call here one day in May before he vanished, one of several calls to Seacouver but this was the only privately-owned establishment."

Aidan sighed in relief and stepped back to the bar, pitching her voice not to carry. "Oh. I was afraid of something like this. You did say Knight? Nicholas Knight, I hope? Slight French accent, pleasant tenor?"

"Yeah, that's him. One of you?"

A soft chuckle, then, "No, but he knows exactly what happened and why. He'll make damned sure this doesn't get solved."

"Aidan, wasn't burning the house a bit extreme?" Joe asked levelly, wondering what had gone wrong. Having a Toronto cop call about immortal business had spooked even him a little bit.

"Not even close, Joe. Leaving it intact would have been worse. He had your name and address over his computer, Connor's current identity and business, also with addresses, two of my names.... That man had enough information and evidence in his files to start a witch hunt if any police had found it. I couldn't be sure Nick would get the case, so I torched the place down to the foundations. What's the line from _Aliens_? 'We pull back and nuke it from orbit. Only way to be sure.' I had to, Joe."

Duncan had come with her to listen; now he wrapped an arm around her waist. "That bad?"

She shivered. "Worse. I'm serious, Duncan, he had information on at least three dozen of us that would have resulted in a witch-hunt or 'recruitment' by a government agency. It was... bad."

"All right, you two. Go have your argument, then come back and talk to me about something pleasant. Get." Joe waved them away in motions reminiscent of a farmwife shooing chickens off the porch.

Once they settled into the booth, Duncan saluted her with his glass. "All right, ladies first. Why should you get him?"

"Several reasons. One, I'm the one who caught all the insults. I should have been grateful for slut and bitch, I suppose, compared to fuckpiece, but I still want his head. Two, he wanted Ramirez' student. You never studied with him; I did. Three, I'm the one who was there; I accepted the challenge. So, rebuttal, counter-argument?"

Studying the relaxed, lounging figure in front of him, Duncan wrenched his mind away from more sensual considerations and back to the argument. "Okay. You were the one absorbing the insults, no argument. But he came looking for a male opponent, one of the MacLeod's. No, I didn't study with Ramirez, but I did study with Connor and you -- close enough. You're older, trickier, and have less mass to absorb that weapon. He's bigger, heavier, and I don't want you sliding in mud and taking a strike from that damn tulwar. He wants 'the Highlander,' " and Duncan did a very good mimicry of White's accent. "Fine. Let him fight one of us. I'm with you, it would be tempting to give him Connor's address, but why bother? I'll deal with him here and we tell Connor about it later. Counter-rebuttal?"

Aidan sipped her tea and quietly said, "Now who's protecting who?"

"Aidan!" Duncan sat bolt upright.

"I'm smaller and weaker, so you want to take the fight. What else do you call it?"

"I want you to live, damn it." Duncan flushed under the calm regard from across the table.

"As I said you're trying to protect me. Duncan, putting aside the fact that I look younger than you do, I'm six times your age. I was past my second millennia before your great-great-grandparents were conceived. Why would you think I'll lose a fight at this late date to a biker thug with delusions of skill?"

"I don't, I just-- Aidan, he challenged a MacLeod in my dojo. It feels like he's my problem."

She sighed and traced circles on the table with one finger. "There's one other thing, you know. You, Methos, and Connor are among the strongest of the immortals. Connor took the Kurgan; you took Caspian and Kronos; Methos took Silas, and he is who he is. I have a goodly amount of power in the Game myself, but I'm not in your league. If one of us is to lose, it needs to be me."

"Damn it, woman--" Duncan fell silent as Aidan leaned over and placed her hand over his mouth.

"My challenge, Dhonnchaidh, already accepted. You may come and watch, take his head if I fail, but it's mine. I will not yield this point. Have done." Grey eyes stared him down, deadly serious on this matter; she stood up, finished with the discussion for her part.

"And what do I tell Methos if you lose?" Worry edged his words and sharpened his voice as her hand slid away from his mouth.

"You tell him I love you both and will see one of you in twenty years or so for training. I will be back in a new body, a new life, within the sun's turning, Dhonnchaidh. My Lady assures me I'm in the Game for the long haul." Aidan leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth, not completely a lover's kiss, but more intimate than merely friendly. "All will be well, dearest. Don't fret so. Will you come along tonight?"

Brown eyes blazing, Duncan reached up and pulled her back in for another kiss, more passionate than hers had been. When he let go of her, they were both startled to realize that she sat curled on his lap and in his arms, but all he said was, "Yes, I'll be there, damn it. Don't you dare lose."

"I shall be most careful, I assure you. Besides, we'll be fighting in the storm. That's more my element than his. Come along, let's go reassure Joe that we've reached a pitched truce."

Joe watched them walk back to the bar and didn't pretend he hadn't been paying attention. "You two still speaking?"

"Of course, Joe. Whiskey for Duncan if you would, please, on my tab. I'm sticking to tea. What's the weather supposed to do tonight? Storm, I assume?"

Joe glanced back and forth between them as he poured Mac a shot of single malt. "Yeah, storms all night, starting sometime late this afternoon."

Aidan sipped at her tea, touched Duncan's shoulder gently as he downed his whiskey. "Sit, Dhonnchaidh, your shoulders are a wreck."

He slid onto a stool and groaned as her hands dug into knots, probing, pressing, loosening the muscles then soothing them. Fingers worked quickly and surely, searching in almost instinctive patterns, knowing that a tension here meant there was almost surely another stress there. Sitting there with her eyes closed, the abstracted look on Aidan's face would have made a casual observer think she was daydreaming, not searching intently along patterns of pain to release them. Joe had felt those strong fingers before and understood Mac's grimace perfectly. The momentary pain would transform to pleasure immediately -- as soon as she stopped and everything relaxed simultaneously.

When she finally finished, shaking her hands vigorously, Duncan sighed and sagged against the bar. Aidan stroked firmly along his shoulders and back, pressing muscles back into their normal positions. "Better?"

"Much. You could make a fortune with those hands, you know."

"Been there, done that." She shrugged. "They didn't sell t-shirts in those days. Do let me know when you have another faculty party, though, by all means. I'll come along and scent mark you in front of her, should you wish."

Joe snorted at the thought of Aidan rubbing up against Duncan and head-butting him like an oversized cat. "So, Mac, tell me all about this clinging vine you ran into."

* * * *

Water fell in torrents, drenching the ground, pounding against the car roof, and nearly obliterating the headlights of the Range Rover. Aidan glanced at Duncan, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and asked, "So whose idea was eight o'clock, anyway? Yours or mine?"

She heard his chuckle rather than saw it. "I think I'm the idiot who said it. Going to forgive me?"

"Oh, assuredly. Do you think he'll actually show?" Aidan sat in the driver seat, tapping her fingers steadily against the sheath of her scimitar. The drumming sound blended with the rain until the whole world seemed to be waiting for this fight.

"He's too stupid not to. A smart man would have called the dojo and changed the time for this." Duncan pushed the seat back even farther to accommodate his long legs and settled himself more comfortably. "Why scimitar? I've never seen you fight with that."

"Oh, I fought with one for six centuries, more or less. And I still practice with it, never fear. His blade is too heavy for me to try and take him with saber if I don't have to." Aidan shrugged and checked to be sure her hair was securely bound and coiled. Duncan reached over, turning her head away from him. He prodded carefully at the braids, then reset a couple of the hair pins. When he finished Aidan murmured, "Thank you," and turned back to contemplating the night.

"How long do you want to wait?" His voice stayed calm and steady despite his loathing of this.

"We give him until nine, I'm afraid. I don't want to have to hunt him down tomorrow." A steady growl punctuated her words and Aidan sighed. "Well, I suppose that answers that. Only twenty minutes late. Should I be impressed, do you think?"

Duncan heard the approaching motorcycle through the slowing patter of raindrops; the familiar sense of an approaching immortal stroked across his skin. "Well, in some ways his timing is good. Come on. If you're determined to do this, we won't get a better time."

"Yes." Aidan stepped out into the rain, not bothering with a coat to conceal her blade. What point? Both it and she would be soaked quickly enough as it were. Standing just back of the light cast by the car, she waited for the challenger.

"Going to let the woman fight your battles, MacLeod? Two of you in one night is fine with me." Ned White set the kickstand on his bike -- a gorgeous Harley Davidson hog, Aidan noticed, wondering who he'd stolen it from -- and pulled out his tulwar. "Come on, bitch, it's wet enough already."

She nodded, silent as always when death hovered so near. In the light cast by her car, she moved into a guard position and waited for him to move. Both her hands were wrapped around the hilt: the right ready to release it, the left uppermost and holding firm for his first strike. Aidan settled her soul into silence, enjoying the rain on her face, the wet grass under bare feet.

Moving into the light, White laughed, a sound meant to be cruel and mirthless that ended up callow rather than callous. He hesitated for a moment then raised his sword to take the battle to her. In that instant, Aidan moved. Her right hand yanked a throwing knife from the back of her neck and threw; she dove behind it, hitting the ground in a rolling somersault over her own blade. The knife hit high in the muscle of his shoulder as she came up and sliced across his belly with the scimitar.

Almost immediately, though, the damp played hell with her strategies. Still rolling, she moved past White, knowing he had doubled over the wound she inflicted. What she meant to do was come back around with a backhand and take his now exposed head. One foot slid in the grass and all the slice did was catch his ribs, laying him open from just under the armpit up and back to the nape of the neck. In the moment it took her to come back up and desperately reset her balance, White turned.

Convinced that she was unprepared to fight him head on, he brought his blade up for an overhead shot. While his hands were up at shoulder height, White yanked loose her knife with a grunt and threw it back at her. He missed badly, but charged after it and brought his tulwar down at her shoulder. The crashing impact of 185 pounds of man and blade drove Aidan to one knee in the grass, but she held against it and pressed back to her feet desperately as he cocked another shot.

Standing in the rain, well back from the fight to reduce the temptation to help, Duncan watched grimly and took mental notes on White's style. The shorter, heavier man whaled away at Aidan, slamming shot after shot at her torso. The blows kept coming at her -- too low to duck, too high to jump, and it was too wet for her to dance in and out of his range as she normally would. That first loss of balance had made the Highlander's heart ascend to his throat and it had yet to retreat again.

Duncan flinched in empathy; her arms had to be hurting, blocking bone-rattling shots again and again with little room for leverage and no chance to bring her own particular strengths to this. Aidan's fighting style depended more upon speed, agility, and timing than sheer muscle for this very reason. Strong though she kept herself, she had always known that men carried more upper-body strength. First the grass had been slick, denying her traction, and now the mud their feet had churned up denied her speed as well.

From within the fight, Aidan would have agreed with Duncan if she could have spared the time and thought. Even immortal healing could only do so much for the damage she was taking; White moved just fast enough that she couldn't strike at him and still have time to block his next swing. Already a couple of his shots had forced her own blade back against her torso with bruising results. Her arms would hold for only another few shots at this rate, she knew, then they would give way and she would be dead.

In her mind, she heard Ramirez' wry, resonant baritone voice from a discussion long ago. _Well, you're smaller and prettier; an opponent is going to assume you play dirty. Usually you don't, so after the first few minutes, he'll assume you won't. Once he comes to this decision -- then you can start._ At that moment, Aidan changed strategies as swiftly as her convoluted mind could manage.

In the mist-filled light from the car, the taller, more slender woman still held her own to Duncan's practiced eyes, balanced just slightly forward on bare feet against the constant slamming impacts of the biker's blade. Immortal fights were rarely this still, but there was no light except the pool they stood in and no traction anywhere, so they fought in one place for the most part, striking and blocking again and again in a battle that had come down to sheer strength rather than skill. Then a blow drove Aidan down to her knees, weight back on her heels. The rain sparkled off her braided hair in the light as she fought not to fall backwards.

The Highlander growled low in his throat without realizing it but held himself back by an effort of pure will. The rule was one on one; he had held to that too many years to break it now. Not even for a line-sister -- not even for Aidan. But he unsheathed his katana, knowing that the moment White stood from her quickening, his head would leave his shoulders. While Duncan watched, White's next strike drove her blade down and to one side, her arms too tired to bring the scimitar back to guard.

The green-haired biker pulled his blade up and back over one shoulder seeing his opponent on her knees in front of him, scimitar too far out of line to block his tulwar. "There can be only one!"

Aidan came up off her heels with the full force of her powerful legs, arms straightening as her body did, blade driving through his solar plexus and up into his chest cavity with all of her mass behind it. His arms had been swinging up and back with the sword. Rain swallowed his strangled scream as he fell backwards, impaled, trapping his own blade beneath his body when he landed in the churned-up mud.

Duncan took one impulsive step forward, then stopped. The immortal woman half-lunged, half-fell forward. Bracing herself on White's chest with one hand, she pulled the scimitar free with the other and pushed back up onto her knees. Her voice sounded exhausted and grim as she called, "Not if I can help it, you bastard." The scimitar swung up then down with both her hands on the hilt for the extra force.

In the rain, the dim light rising up around White's body was nearly invisible; his quickening was mercifully short-lived. Aidan lay in the mud, letting it pound across her, driving her farther into the trampled muck of grass and dirt, too tired to restrain her own scream of pain as the lightning tore across her. She felt his personality settle into her mind and almost casually she forced it down and away. He had been too young, too shallow, to be any serious threat to her sanity.

Still lying there, aware that the mud felt blessedly cool against her heated, aching body, she heard Duncan's voice. "Shall I throw the motorcycle in the back of your truck?"

Head turned to one side so as not to breathe mud, blood splattered across her face, Aidan couldn't help laughing. "Would you, please? Maybe Rich will show me how to ride it."

She never moved as she heard the tailgate slam down and Duncan's grunt of effort as he lifted the motorcycle. Rain washed the blood off her face, began to soak the blood from her hair, as she rested in the mud. Duncan left for a few minutes; Aidan assumed he was dealing with the body, but it was just too much effort to sit up yet.

_In just another minute, I'll get up and pull these clothes off. I'll get in the truck and dry off, stuff the wet clothes in that trash bag, and pull on the dry clothes in my duffel. In just a minute. Sweet Lady my arms hurt. And my shoulders, and my back, and my ribs, and my stomach...._

Duncan's presence washed over her and Aidan knew she had been lying there more than the minute she had allotted herself. So she forced herself up to her knees grimly. As she paused for the next effort, the pouring rain began to wash the blood and muck off.

Duncan tossed some things onto the front seat of the Range Rover, then he came back and unceremoniously pulled Aidan to her feet with an arm around her ribs. He pushed her at the passenger seat of the Range Rover and said, "Get those wet things off." Not waiting for an answer, he retrieved both her scimitar and the tulwar, throwing the second sword carelessly in the back of her truck. Her sword he sheathed carefully and slid into the sword-bag attached to her duffel, then pitched the bag and his wet coat in the back of the truck.

The sight of her arms under the interior light made him wince. Little bolts of lightning crackled continuously along her skin, a sure sign of immortal healing, and he realized that her bones had half-broken again and again in stress fractures from the impacts she had withstood. Across her shoulders from fingertip to opposite fingertip, the blue-black of bruising mottled her skin. Her hands were swollen as blood rushed to knit bone back into place.

Duncan used Aidan's belt dagger to slice off her tank shirt rather than ask her to move her arms. Toweling the worst of the liquids off her torso, he pulled a sweatshirt from her duffel and tugged it down over her, arms and all, for greater warmth. Aidan braced her back against the seat and managed to lift her hips without using her arms as Duncan quickly removed soaked, mud-coated denim leggings off her. Again, he dried her off, and helped her pull on the sweatpants, setting the damp towel under her.

She threw him a rueful smile, well aware that the towel was dry compared to the car seat. In a blasé voice ruined by chattering teeth as she began to go into shock Aidan murmured, "Next time, I let you have the challenge, yes?"

Duncan nodded, not trusting his voice for that one. He reached into her duffel bag one more time and pulled out the trench coat she kept there, draping it across her for additional warmth. He started up the truck and turned on the heater as they headed back into the city, paying just enough attention to the speed limit not to get pulled over. Within five minutes, Aidan had dozed off, still shivering slightly.

* * * *

"Aidan. We're here. Wake up." Duncan gently shook her shoulder, noticing that the collarbone no longer looked broken and the swelling in her hands had gone down dramatically.

"Hmm? Oh, Duncan. Where are we?" She automatically pushed with one hand to straighten up in the seat. Not all the stress fractures had healed yet, and white agony shot across her arm as she drew a slow breath against it. Her face shifted to an expressionless mask until she controlled the pain.

"My place. Come on, you need a shower and some food. Your arms up to it?"

"For something as light as soap or my hair? Yes." She sat up more carefully this time, pulling up with belly muscles instead of arms, and opened the door of the vehicle. Once at the dojo she waited for Duncan to let her in, all too aware that sweatpants didn't have pockets.

He followed with her duffel bag, opening the door for her and waving her up the stairs. Aidan commented, "It's almost a pity Rich had a hot date tonight. Wouldn't hurt him to see what can happen when you run into someone stronger than you are."

"All my film's in the freezer. Sorry," came his sarcastic, irritated response. As they stepped into the loft, Duncan set her duffel bag in the kitchen. "Do you need help with the shower?"

"No, but may I borrow some dry sweats when I get out?" Aidan carefully peeled her sweatshirt over her head and checked her arms; they only sparked now instead of looking like a Jacob's ladder. "Well, that's healing nicely. Good."

She glanced back up at Duncan, rueful and apologetic. "I am sorry, Dhonnchaidh, both times I've taken a challenge in this town you've had to get me home again. I don't usually have this problem, believe it or not."

"Aidan, I don't mind doing it; I hate that you need it. Next time, I get the challenge, all right?" Something in the way she had worded that nagged at him as he set out clean towels in the bathroom for her and started the hot water. "Have you taken a challenge since I met you that I don't know about?"

Still dropping hair pins on the side of the sink, she replied without looking at him. "Two young women in Toronto. They were neither old nor good."

"I hate taking quickenings one after the other. They leave me with a hell of a headache." Duncan scooped up the damp sweats. "All right, take your time. We'll talk when you get out." She nodded and stepped into the shower to adjust the water temperature.

Duncan dropped the sweats and her wet clothes in his washer, set it and made a mental note to turn it on when she got out. After dropping a wool robe and some thick socks in the bathroom for her, he headed back into the kitchen, thinking and planning as he went. Working quickly, he started some soup warming, lacing it liberally with spices and cooking wine, then heated water for tea. Picking up the phone, he hit the speed dial for Joe's house.

"Dawson."

"Joe, it's Duncan. Did you know there was an immortal in town, name of Ned White? Had definitely seen one too many biker thug movies?"

"Yeah, I heard. What about him?" Dawson settled back in his chair, the new Easy Rawlins novel open across his lap.

"He should have stayed home. Aidan took him in the rain about half an hour ago."

There was brief pause before Joe muttered, "I knew I should have gotten money on it." While Duncan was still trying to sort that comment out, the mortal continued, "Right. Did you see any other Watchers?"

Duncan laughed at the thought and kept mixing herbs for tea. "Joe, I could barely see the fight and I was fifteen feet away. They were fighting in the light from the Range Rover. It looked like some of Connor's stories about fighting the Kurgan -- they just stood there slamming away at each other until she shammed exhaustion and gutted him."

Joe thought about that for a long second and frowned at the images his too-vivid imagination conjured. "How convincing was it?"

Now it was Duncan's turn to pause. "Too convincing. She terrified me. I thought she was going to lose her head. Aidan's all right, though. She'll be there in the morning."

Joe sighed. "I take it she's not there?"

"She's soaking the aches out in the shower. Stress fractures all along the hands and arms, some cracked ribs I think, and a pulled hamstring at the start. Nothing to worry about now, Joe, she's fine." Duncan pulled bread out of the fridge and started applying butter and garlic to it.

"Fine? Saber and main gauche versus tulwar in the rain? Jesus, MacLeod, tell her I said to use a claymore next time." Joe knew he sounded peevish and irritable, but damn it, she looked too small to be taking on a bruiser like White.

"I'll tell her, Joe, but she used one of her old scimitars. Trust me, I was glad, too. Anyway, I figured you'd want to know what happened." Finished with the bread, he wrapped it in aluminum foil and shoved it in the oven to heat.

"Yeah. Thanks, Mac, I appreciate it. I'll let you know what his Watcher thought happened, assuming the guy could even see anything. Give her a hug for me if you get the chance, and tell her one of these days would she warn me when she's taking a challenge? It would be a lot easier on my nerves than these, 'oh, by the way' conversations."

Duncan chuckled at the irritated tone of voice. "Will do, Joe. Hug first then scold. Got it."

"Hey, you might try it sometime yourself. Makes differences of opinion a lot easier to get through." Joe chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Thanks for the call, Mac."

"Take care, Joe. And you're welcome. By the way, what bet did you neglect to nail down?"

After a long silence at the other end of the line, Joe chuckled, sounding a bit guilty. "I looked this guy's record up earlier this evening when I found out he was in town. His Watcher said he had a temper, a foul mouth and no brain. Thought maybe I could get odds on him living through the week in Seacouver, between you, Rich, and Aidan. Sorry, Mac."

To Joe's surprise, Duncan laughed. "You know, if I'd known about it, I'd have given you some money to put down on that bet. Just don't let me hear you bet against us! Have a good night, Joe."

After he hung up, Duncan looked around the kitchen and decided soup and bread would do, as tired as she was. With the free time until the food was ready, though the Scot found himself considering another phone call. On the one hand it was.... God, five AM in Paris. On the other, Duncan knew he wouldn't want to hear about a challenge to a friend from gossip and have to wonder. The Watcher grapevine might well reach Methos there before Duncan woke up in the Seattle morning.

"Oh, why not? It'll make up for some of the times I've come in and found a new roommate all of a sudden." Pouring some of the hot water into a small teapot, the Highlander let some Darjeeling steep for himself while he dialed another number from memory.

After three rings, a harsh, annoyed voice spoke in French. "Someone had better be dead, or whoever you are, you will be."

Duncan grinned at that and sat down on one of the stools. In English he replied, "Well, I was calling to tell you someone was dead and you shouldn't worry about it -- but if you really don't want details, I'll hang up."

A trenchant silence sat on the other end of the line. After a moment, Methos commented, "MacLeod, it's five in the bloody morning; I went to sleep an hour ago. Subtlety is better suited to story-telling. Give me some facts. Who's out of the Game?"

Duncan sobered at the controlled tone of voice. "Adam. Take it easy. Aidan's fine, I wouldn't break bad new to you like that. She took a challenge tonight and won, but it got nasty. I wanted to call and tell you before you heard anything from the other Watchers in Paris."

"Mac, I'm out of the Watchers, remember? I'm the one who just woke up." Methos sat up in bed, settling pillows behind himself, and started to wake up again. Talking to the Highlander was an unexpected pleasure. They didn't call each other often, not even for things like this.

"I know you're out, but are you really telling me they don't stop by the bookstore occasionally? You know, ask you to track down rare volumes for them, and maybe trade shop talk and office gossip?" The Highlander tried to make sure his voice conveyed the grin his friend couldn't see.

"I suppose I could tell you, but neither of us would believe it. How outrageous a fight was this, MacLeod, that they would tell me about it?" Methos kept his tone easy and ironic. The Scot would never draw out a conversation like this if there were bad news involved.

Duncan replied calmly, "I'll give you the details, then I'll tell you the joke. A new immortal named Ned White came to challenge at the dojo; Aidan and I think he'd maybe been in the Game two years. Aidan was there, I wasn't, she took the fight. He used tulwar; she pulled out an old scimitar for this. They pounded on each other in the rain for a while, then she managed to win."

"In the rain, MacLeod? What was she thinking?" Methos sat bolt upright, appalled. "Managed to win? Come on, Highlander, out with it or I tell Joe that you've always secretly loathed haggis."

"Well, it wasn't storming when we set the time for the fight. And managed to win covers it; she slipped the first time she tried to maneuver. It came down to brute force until she deliberately went down to make him change his attack angle. Then she came up off her knees, gutted him and took his head."

Duncan paused and waited for Methos to start to speak before cutting over his voice to say, "And haggis I can take or leave, but I'll admit to actually liking Yorkshire pudding."

Methos smiled on the other end of the line, but part of his mind was supplying the details behind and around Duncan's words. "And the joke?"

"Picture this. The guy looked like a Hell's Angel going to seed who'd stumbled into a punk rock beauty school..."

"The image alone is enough to make you nauseous," Methos commented.

"... and he came to Seacouver, my dojo, to challenge Connor." Mirth ran through Duncan's voice, his sense of humor surfacing again now that it was over.

Methos chuckled despite himself. "Connor's only been in New York, what, two centuries now? I take it the man was a poster child for brain donations?"

"He was walking proof that immortality goes to morons and geniuses alike. So how's Paris?"

"Hot, damp, dark. Seacouver?"

The wry, sardonic voice on the other end of the line eased some of the worry in Duncan and he replied in the same tones, "Cooler, damp, also dark. Thunderstorm in progress. Been stocking in some beer. You coming over here any time in the next month?"

"No, I don't think so. A little too far out of my apparent means, MacLeod. I'm just a book-dealer with a taste for jazz and blues who occasionally has good months. You heading over here this fall or did they talk you into teaching classes again?"

Duncan settled back against the counter and poured a mug of the sweet, strong tea. "No, I told them my other job needed some attention. I'll be over in about a month, work on some acquisitions for Connor's store, check out a few things I'm interested in. Gina and Robert want me to come appraise their estate for tax purposes. That'll take a month at least, and they have to pay me well or the French government won't believe a form of it."

Methos chuckled at the idea. "Let me know when you're coming in and I'll pick you and Joe up at the airport. But I am not going near Gina de Valicourt. No way, MacLeod. The woman's dangerous."

"Of course Gina's dangerous, she's Italian and female. As if you can talk, after training Aidan. Besides, Gina likes you. She told me so." He sipped at the tea, smiling.

"What do you expect, MacLeod, I'm likable. It's a gift. But she's still unpredictable and dangerous; she's Italian and female. By the way, you might want to consider doing something like upgrading Joe's ticket when you head over. Coach plays hell with his stumps on that Atlantic flight, but he'll never admit it." Methos went ahead and sat up, scooting back against the headboard of the bed as Duncan thought on the other end of the line.

"Is he having trouble with his legs, money, or both?"

"Not trouble, exactly, just a temporary inconvenience. Fair chunk of money the Watchers owe him is tied up in paperwork, so he's got a cash flow problem. I think they see him as too radical for their tastes, and hope to apply a subtle pair of thumbscrews."

Duncan snorted. "The only thing that'll do is piss him off into quitting again. Idiots." He heard the water cut off in the shower and reached out to stir the soup again. "Shall I let you get some sleep, or did you want to say hi to Aidan? She's getting out of the shower."

"She's over there? Or are you at her place?"

"We're at my place. It was closer, and I knew what everything in my refrigerator was."

The familiar sardonic tone came through loud and clear. "Nice to know she still doesn't eat before fights. Just as well, even we can be inconvenienced by peritonitis. But I suppose I can stay awake for a while yet and talk to her at least."

"Good, I'd hate to have to wipe up blood when she catches up with us in Paris. Now that that's settled, what have you managed to steal from estates lately? Pardon me, acquire at discounted prices?" Duncan grinned at the thoughtful pause on the other end of the line.

"Not stolen, Mac, the police frown on that. Although I did buy a Czech _Book of Hours_ from Amanda, absolutely gorgeous illumination. Should be able to turn a lovely profit on it after I validate its origins."

Aidan heard Duncan's chuckle before she came through the bathroom door, and smelled tomatoes, beef and garlic. "Oh, you mean after you decide what country not to sell it in? Yeah, I bet you will. She does acquire the most gorgeous stuff."

"Practice, MacLeod, practice. Other than that, I have my eye on a York estate sale coming up in a couple weeks, and Rich bought three boxes of books from a college student while he was here. I found an autographed first edition Mark Twain, and I'm only partway through the first box. He does have good instincts for this sort of thing."

Duncan saw Aidan settle onto the stool next to him and poured hot water over the tea he had put together for her. "Yeah, but not for cars. Motorcycles, sure. So, did you want to talk to the wet rat over here?"

Aidan thumbed her nose at him. "Wretch, rapscallion, perfidious Highland kern. Who is it?"

On the phone, Methos commented, "No, MacLeod, that's drowned rat. Although with that nose of hers, maybe it should be drowned cat?"

"A lot of room you have to talk about noses--"

"Oh, it must be Methos," Aidan broke in. Duncan grinned and nodded at her.

"Cheap shot, and predictable besides. Hand her the phone, would you?" Methos took the comment in stride; his nose had always been his most recognizable feature.

"I'll let you know when I'm headed that way. Here you go."

Methos hastily called, "MacLeod!"

The Scot put the phone back to his ear, halted in mid-motion. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for calling. I appreciate it."

Duncan shook his head, bemused. "What was I going to do, let you hear the story from someone else later and worry? Give me some credit. But you're welcome."

Aidan took the phone, commenting, "He doesn't take thank yous very well, does he? How are you, love? Why are you awake? It's what, five in the morning there?"

"I'm talking to you, therefore I'm awake. And I see you can still do timetable conversions." Despite the sarcastic comments, he couldn't keep the pleasure out of his voice.

"Of course I can. I learned time-keeping earlier in my life than you did, oh most..."

"Finish that and I go back to sleep, Edana," he growled.

"...stimulating, engrossing 5K immortal I've ever met," she concluded. She watched as Duncan vanished briefly, but the sound of the washing machine coming on told her where he'd gone.

Despite himself, Methos laughed. "And how many have you met?"

"You. But you're definitely in the lead by a nose."

Duncan was grinning and shaking his head when he reappeared and started putting out mugs and a plate for the garlic bread. He poured Aidan a mug of the herb tea and offered her some honey for it. She dumped a spoonful in and stirred without dropping a word of the conversation.

"Irish wench, where did you learn manners?"

"You. Who did you think I was going to blame? We're running up Duncan's phone bill, love. I'm fine, it's over, I won. You both worry too much. I won't even sleep poorly from this one. There was almost nothing to him except a love for cheap beer and free women."

"All right, Edana. Sleep well, take care of Duncan. Tell him I said to take care of you. Will you still be over in October?" Methos settled back under the covers, wanting to go back to sleep with her voice still echoing in his ears.

"Well, I'm about two-thirds of the way through the translations and it's still -- knock on wood--" and she did, "going strongly. I had hoped to be there in early October, but I'm now betting on late."

"We'll figure out then who stays where, I suppose. Any luck with Duncan? Or have you declined the chase out of some misguided nobility?" Amused interest threaded his voice.

"None so far, except Amanda gave me her blessing for the project." Aidan watched Duncan choke on his tea and grinned. "I'm considering it. Misguided nobility really isn't my bag, anyway. What have you been up to along such lines?"

"Not a thing. Why should I? You and Duncan are there, dearest, why try for less than the best when you'll be here in another couple months?" He yawned widely.

"Sorry, shouldn't be keeping you awake. Sleep, magister meus, dream well. Duncan will be over in a few weeks. Did you want to say good night before I let you go back to sleep?"

Methos purred quietly at the thought. "Only fair, he woke me up. Sleep well yourself. Call me Wednesday?"

"As always, love." Aidan handed the phone back to Duncan. "I'll get whatever it is out of the oven. Tell him good night so that he'll sleep, would you, Dhonnchaidh?"

Duncan took the phone, amused and protective all at once. "Good night, old friend, sleep well."

"And you, Highlander." Duncan didn't understand the next phrase. After Methos hung up, the Scot turned around. "Aidan, what does this mean?" and repeated it as carefully as he could.

She reached over and dropped the bread into the bowl. "He never taught me Phoenician, Dhonnchaidh, I have no idea. Oh, and I'm supposed to tell you to take care of me. He gave me the same instructions regarding you, I might add."

He refilled both mugs of tea and took those and the soup over to the couch. Aidan promptly curled up, sock feet tucked under legs, and took her soup gratefully. "Thank you, by the way. This is wonderful."

"You haven't even tried it yet," he pointed out dryly.

"It's here and warm, far better than I'd have done on my own. I'll admit, if I'd gone home, I might well have crawled into bed without so much as a shower much less dinner. I can't do that here, I'd feel terrible about doing that to your sheets."

"You look like a waif, you realize." In Duncan's bathrobe, which swallowed her shorter, slighter form, and with a large towel wrapped around her head in a turban, she did look overwhelmed. While the deep red bathrobe suited Duncan's olive skin beautifully, it lent Aidan's skin an additional, unnecessary pallor.

"Hmm, I don't feel like one. And the soup is excellent, thank you." Aidan dropped bread into the mug to drink down with the soup, and sipped at her tea. "Ah, Gods, another herbalist. What all do you have in this? I can taste mint and lemon balm."

He shrugged slightly and replied, "You tell me. You're doing fine so far."

Aidan sipped again more judiciously and nodded. "Hops, and some catnip in there, too, I think. Lends an odd flavor to the mint. And some rosemary as well. Did I miss anything?"

"Not a thing. Drink up, you've a pot of it to go through. I'm not used to seeing immortals try to go into shock, so you're going to have to finish all of it before I give you your keys back."

Aidan drained the soup quickly, then poured the tea down in one long swallow. She came up onto her knees and leaned over him. "Duncan?"

He put his mug on the table, then set hers next to it. "Yes?"

"Would you mind terribly if I didn't want to go home tonight?" She hadn't touched him, quite carefully.

"What did you have in mind?" Try as he would, he couldn't quite keep the corners of his mouth from twitching as the smile threatened to break through.

"Staying here. Sleeping eventually."

"Aidan, this isn't because Methos is out of town, is it?"

One eyebrow went up, incredibly disdainful. "Do you really think so?"

"No. And it's not just the quickening?"

An exasperated sigh stirred the curling hair around his throat. "I do know about masturbation, MacLeod. Discovered it all by myself back before I met Methos. Even have 'toys' at home for those times when I don't have a convenient man for whatever reason. Next silly question?"

"Do you want any more tea first?" Brown eyes gleamed with mischief and Aidan stared at him, then laughed in delight.

"Oh, beautifully done, you wretch. Yes, I'll drink some more of your carefully mixed decoction, but was that a 'yes' or am I going home?"

Duncan drank down his own soup. "Shall I pour you another mug of tea to bring to bed?"

"Highlander, quit--" Aidan lost the rest of the word as Duncan moved forward and kissed her. He tried to start out gentle, but found that Aidan had very different plans. Her mouth never left off exploring his as her hands moved under the waist of his sweater. Strong, callused hands roamed across his skin, startling to him somehow. He'd made love with any number of female immortals, but none of them had been as strong as Aidan or as serious about weapons training. Except for the size, her hands felt like a man's, which he found surprisingly erotic. At the same time, her hips moved against him in a constant, almost unconscious, rhythmic motion that she seemed unaware of. He drank her whimpering groans with his mouth, as he pulled her more closely against himself.

Pulling free of her mouth, Duncan whispered, " 'Convenient', hmm? Shall we go to bed while we can still move?"

Aidan shook her head, almost incoherent with pleasure. The grey eyes had dilated, pupils huge as she stared at him from a flushed face, lips swollen from his kiss. "Never make it. Love, please, now."

The sight of her arousal, knowing how much of it was his doing, chased thoughts from his mind. Like her, his only goal was to have her legs wrapped around his, her warm slickness sheathing him as soon as possible.

Aidan shifted her hands to the waistband of his pants and paused. "Dhonnchaidh?" For just a second she sounded very uncertain, a tone of voice that actually fit her apparent age. "Are you sure this is...?"

The Scot caressed her cheek with one hand, shifting mental gears and reining in his desire. "We're still going to be friends in the morning, right?"

"Yes, of course we are." Warm, large hands covered hers and she shivered at the sensation.

"Then I'm sure. But are you sure you don't want to try to make it to the bed?" Both of them looked at the bed, at each other, and chuckled.

"Later." The robe fell open as she untied the belt, and she threw it over the end of the couch impatiently, sending her hair towel after it. "Aren't you wearing too much?"

Duncan undid the button of his pants, then pulled the zipper down slowly, watching Aidan's face. The leisurely movement held her complete attention and he wondered how far her control would last. Her next words told him.

"Dhonnchaidh, we're going to talk about this later." As he glanced up to see her expression, she pounced on him. Damp hair swung forward, sliding over his sweater as she grabbed both of his wrists and pulled them up over his head. Startled, Duncan let her, and Aidan shifted swiftly to hold them with one strong hand. With the other hand, she yanked the sweater up over his head but not off his arms, confining him in cotton. Immediately, she pulled his jeans down off his straining erection.

"Aidan?" His voice was surprised -- breathless and low, seduction in sound. Huge grey eyes watched him, her smile as sensual as his tone. He gasped and arched up as she eased briefs off, pressing them down to join the pants around his thighs. Duncan only realized she had trapped him when she moved forward and began to carefully settle her hips down, guiding him into her with her free hand.

"Isn't this the part where I promise to be gentle?" Her low, sultry voice poured over him as surely as her heat encircled just the head of his cock. Duncan groaned and held onto his control tenaciously as her other hand come back up to encircle his wrists, the skin of their arms separated by the fabric of his sweater. He watched her face as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, concentrating fiercely as she tried to draw this out a little despite the insistent arousal from the aftermath of the quickening.

That incredibly slow motion downward tantalized both of them; Aidan gave a little purring sigh when she finally settled against his hips, impaled to the hilt. Leaning forward, she nipped at Duncan's lower lip, but pulled back as he tried to capture her mouth for a kiss. She felt incredibly tight around him, hot and slick and already quivering as she held back her first orgasm to take him with her.

"Aidan." Duncan groaned her name as she eluded him and he felt her rise again, almost as slowly as she had moved down; this time she tightened internal muscles as she went. The pressure and heat combined to drive him half-mad. In the next few minutes, Duncan decided half a dozen times that he was going to beat her for this when he got the chance, and forgave her almost as often. A small part of his mind concluded once that he would have to ask Aidan where she had learned those hip motions, but most of him was entirely distracted with sensation.

Her hands wrapped around his wrists, using leverage and weight to keep him pinned. Teeth, tongue and lips drove him half-mad, nipping and kissing at sensitive spots under the jaw, beneath the ear, along the corded tendons of his throat, returning every so often to his mouth to steal the breath from both of them. Duncan's control frayed slowly along the edges and he could feel hers going as well, the disciplined motions of her hips speeding up, her weight shifting just enough to let him move as well.

Aidan arched up and back as she came, internal muscles tightening around Duncan's cock as she cried out. The feel of her cool, damp hair swinging across bare thighs drew a sharp, startled gasp from him. Duncan yanked one arm out of the sweater and reached for her as his hands came free, one hand moving to tweak a nipple, the other searching between their joined bodies until he found and stroked at her clit. Aidan gasped and her legs tightened around his hips. He thrust upward, strong legs taking her weight and lifting it as he drove into her again and again until he came as well, his cry melding with hers.

When he could think again, Aidan lay across his chest, still wrapped around him and purring softly. Somehow he had wrapped his arms around her, so his sweater lay draped across her lower back and hips, and across his thighs. He vaguely noticed that her damp hair kept shifting with her breathing, but only because it tickled. She nipped at his shoulder, using teeth, and he came fully awake again.

"Damn! Aidan, quit that, you're drawing blood!"

"We'll live," she muttered and licked gently at it by way of apology.

"Yes, but still!" He twisted his face into the side of her neck and bit hard at the juncture where shoulder and neck met until she gasped and abruptly sat up.

"Duncan! Quit that! Can we do something sane, like get your clothes off and go to bed?"

Warm hands cupped the sides of her face. "I don't know." Laughter rumbled deep in his chest as he asked, "Do I get to help a bit more this time?"

"Yes, love, certainly." Aidan moved carefully, legs a bit stiff from staying in that position for too long. Once off the couch, she smiled and eased his pants off the rest of the way. Duncan swung up to a seated position and pulled his sweater completely off, then swatted her as she commented, "Besides, I thought every man liked to have his partner take charge occasionally?"

"Oh, yeah. I was just thinking," and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "that I've always heard that turnabout is fair play!" He scooped her up before she could squirm away and carried her, shrieking and laughing, to the bed.

"Dhonnchaidh! Put me down!"

"Okay." He shrugged, face set in a mock-disappointed look that couldn't hold back the grin, and dropped her onto the bed. Before she could squirm off, the Scot landed next to her and pinned her with one arm. "You're down. Anything else you wanted?"

"MacLeod! You--" Aidan abandoned words and launched a counter-attack. She never bothered to figure out what had happened, but somehow he won the wrestling match (not that she had wanted the victory) and her hands ended up tied over her head with a sash. She heard a muttered comment in Gaelic that it was only fair, after what she had done to him. After that, neither of them was much interested in fighting. It was amazing to Duncan how much she could manage without her hands. Equally amazing to Aidan were some of the things Duncan had stashed around to use with his hands.

Sensualist that he was, Duncan drew this time out as much as he could. Both of them lay exhausted at the last, muscles still quivering from release and purring quietly against each other as he reached up and untied her hands. Aidan murmured almost to herself, "Gods, I wonder which of you will exhaust the other?"

"Hmm? Aidan, what?"

She reached a long, lazy arm down to pull the covers up over them as sweat-soaked skin began to chill. "Just that both you and Methos like to draw out foreplay until your partner's ready to collapse. Wondering which of you will wear the other out."

Duncan stiffened for a moment then began stroking her shoulder and back as she curled against him. Aidan forced herself to stay awake, promising herself she could sleep late tomorrow. This timing was perfect and too important to miss.

"Aidan, what are you talking about?"

A calm voice, she noticed, and still quiet. Good. "You and Methos. You love each other; is there some reason you shouldn't take him to bed?"

"Other than the fact that he's male?" But Duncan remembered the kiss he had given Methos two months ago, just before his flight was called, and wondered if that was still reason enough, or if it ever really had been.

"How about a good reason? Do you love him?"

"What do you--" A strong hand covered his mouth, gently.

"Let's try a vaguely Socratic method, shall we? I'll ask questions, you answer. And Duncan? Give me the first answer you think of, not the one you come up with after you think about it." She removed her hand and propped up on one elbow to watch him, seeing wide brown eyes and that mobile mouth gone tense.

"All right. Ask away."

"Easy, love. I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to keep you from hurting yourself. Listen to me. Do you love Methos?"

"What do you mean by love?"

A quiet sigh told Duncan that question had hurt. "Can you stand the thought of him in pain, writhing with it, pale and clenched around it?"

The involuntary flinch of his muscles gave her the non-verbal answer, but she watched him with grey eyes that wrung the word out of him in the lamplight. "No."

"Do you want him to be happy?"

"Yes, I do. But you aren't talking about a sympathy fuck." He used the profanity deliberately, to see what she'd say.

"No, I'm not. Dhonnchaidh, you wouldn't take a lover who didn't interest you, who didn't meet your standards. From what you and Rich have told me about Tessa, your standards are pretty high. You have a friend you love, who does meet your standards, and who does arouse you. Doesn't he?"

"Aidan, I--" Duncan blushed at the thought and was surprised to realize that he was blushing.

"Duncan, close your eyes for a moment. Please. Shut the world out and listen to my voice, try to fall into what I describe. Do this for me. Please?"

The Scot sighed and closed his eyes. Surely whatever she had in mind couldn't be worse than the questions.

"Pretend it's early evening and you're stretched out on the couch, comfortable and content. No one's after your head, none of your friends need help of any kind, you have no obligations for the evening. Beethoven's playing on the stereo, the 'Moonlight Sonata.' Warm, strong hands are rubbing out your hands for you, working up the forearms where you're sore from katas, up over the biceps and triceps, smoothing down the cords in your shoulders. Smooth, oiled hands, soothing your back, rubbing down your sides.

"Imagine those same skilled hands relaxing your feet, settling all the small bones back into place, easing all the tension in all those muscles. Feel those hands moving up your calves, relaxing your legs, digging into the hamstring, rubbing out your muscles. Can you feel it, Dhonnchaidh?"

He nodded, already relaxing as meditation practices automatically eased muscles as she described it. Aidan watched narrow-eyed, but no trace of her intent study reached her voice.

"Nice strong hands, digging into knots and unlocking the tension, then rubbing in long, slow strokes until there's nothing in the touch but pleasure. Feel those same strong hands rubbing across your buttocks, easing all the little places that stay sore after a long run, keeping the touch completely professional. Feel good, Dhonnchaidh?"

"Mmm-hmm." She could feel him almost purring against her and knew she had his complete attention.

"Good. Now, imagine a warm body settling near you, that same hand pressing you onto your side as a warm mouth licks along your neck, nibbles just under the jaw. Think about the same mouth descending straight down your chest, teasing your nipples, licking along your belly, until it works its way down to your groin, going down on you. Think about opening your eyes to see dark hair and pale skin moving on you, feel a talented mouth licking and tasting you." She could feel his cock twitching against her side as immortal recovery time began to ready him again.

"Dhonnchaidh, can you see it?"

"God, yes." He almost moaned it, eyes still closed, his attention focused solely on her words.

"It's not me, love, it's Methos' hair under your hands, his mouth hot and wet around you, his hands wrapped around your thighs." If anything, Duncan got even harder at the thought.

"Do you want him in your bed, Dhonnchaidh? Your body does."

Duncan shuddered against her, then whispered, "Aidan, please."

Strong arms wrapped around the Scot and pulled him against her body. "Do you want to be his lover, Duncan? You don't have to answer me, but you do have to answer yourself and soon. You're going to Paris, love, don't tell me you're going to avoid him. It's not in you to hurt him to save yourself pain."

"God, woman, are you ever wrong?"

"All the time, but never about the important things. You've never taken a male lover, have you?"

Silence answered that, then, "No. I haven't."

"Is it frightened you are, then?" There was no condemnation in her voice, only sympathy, and her hands worked steadily along knots of tension in his shoulders.

Duncan lay silent against her for a long time, then rolled away. "I need to go run or do katas."

Aidan lay on her back in the bed and watched him get up and pull his jeans back on, but he only sat back down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He fell back on the bed at last and pillowed his head on her stomach. "What am I going to do, Aidan?"

She ran her fingers through his hair, separating sweat-soaked tangles. "What do you want to do, dearheart? Not your body, you."

"I don't...." He fell silent, then confessed, "I want him. I don't care that he's male, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what to do, Aidan."

She raised a sardonic eyebrow, glad he couldn't see her face. In a credible imitation of David Ogden Stiers, she commented, "The usual thing. Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep...." Dropping back into her normal tones, Aidan continued, "Hmm, strike that last. You aren't the type. Duncan, has it occurred to you that you could try kissing the man and see what happens? He would be perfectly happy to show you what to do. Hell, he'd be happy to tell you what to do and play demonstration model!"

That finally brought a chuckle out of Duncan and Aidan relaxed a bit. Still laughing, he said, "God, I hope so. But Aidan-- You've been implying he wants me. How do you know? He's never said a thing, or made even a subtle pass. "

Aidan snorted at that. "Oh, right, Duncan. Tell me another one. Don't be such an idiot, man. I've watched you two sitting and talking over beers and a chess board. That kind of intent interest is unmistakable. You two have been circling each other the entire time I've known you, including when Methos was living with me that last week. Besides, he told me."

Now Duncan choked. "Excuse me?"

She shrugged, knowing he'd feel the motion through her body. "I asked."

The Scot rolled over, coming up on his elbows to stare at her. "My God, you have the damnedest ideas of pillow talk!"

"How do you know it was pillow talk?" Aidan favored him with a completely bland expression as she pushed a stray lock of hair off her face.

"Was it?" The dry tone of his voice brought a reluctant grin.

"Well -- yes. Actually, bath talk, but why be picky?"

He rolled back onto his back, using her as a pillow again. "In that bath of yours, I suspect anything gets discussed."

"You certainly spent enough time in Japan. The next time we spar you need to come soak with me. Are you changing the subject?"

The sigh told her that answer. "No, just thinking. What do I do?"

"Gods, man, I think you'd try to discuss pantomime to death! What would you do if you were interested in a woman? It's not that different. You want a chance to get him alone and make your intentions clear, hopefully while he's in the right frame of mind, yes?"

"You're saying I should take him to dinner or something?"

Aidan chuckled softly. "Not unless you plan on molesting him in public. Do you act so differently in Paris than here? Invite him over and cook dinner for him. Gods know he gets tired of cooking -- he's only been doing it for five thousand years. Besides, he won't pass up a free meal, much less your cooking!"

"He eats his way through my refrigerator every time he's in town, he's almost as bad as Rich."

She could feel his muscles relaxing against her as Duncan reached his peace with this decision. "Rich doesn't drink quite as much beer. Less practice."

"Good point. You know, Aidan, most women don't seduce a man and then matchmake him for someone else before morning."

She laughed at the wry tone of his voice. "Well, if I was most women, I wouldn't be in your bed, now would I? And turnabout is definitely fair play. You scolded me when I was being a fool about love; I'm just returning the favor." One hand stroked lovingly across his cheek to take any sting out of her words.

"Besides," she continued, "pointing out the obvious is not matchmaking. Speaking of which, you do realize you're going to have to make the first move?"

"I am?" He thought about that for a second, then sighed. "Yeah, if he waited that long for you, he'll wait for me, too, won't he?"

"Oh, Dhonnchaidh, you have no idea. The man will wait until he's sure that it's what you want and that you understand what you're asking. Much though it may pain you, I think you're going to have to be blatant, o subtle one." She dodged as he tried to swat her, and the tension somehow evaporated in a tickle match which she won only by being less ticklish.

* * * *

Rich distinctly felt Aidan's presence as well as Duncan's as the elevator headed up to the loft. Hers was always distinctive, and the Highlander's was as familiar to Rich as his faded blue-jeans. Damn, those two were up late. Maybe they'd gotten some movies? Stormy night like this, that was the only good thing to be doing. Rich had waited out the worst of the rain at Joe's himself before riding back to the loft to get some sleep.

As he pulled the elevator grate up, he started to call out a hello until he realized most of the lights were off and so was the television. Looking around, he saw Aidan crouched naked on the far side of the bed holding a dagger. Duncan stood by the other side of the bed, katana out... and a few other things as well.

"Thought you usually wore your shorts to bed, Mac?" Rich couldn't resist the comment, a grin breaking across his face as he watched Aidan stand back up, completely unembarrassed by her nudity.

"I distracted him a bit. Gods, Duncan, where in the nine hells is my sword?"

Duncan put his katana down and sighed, "In the kitchen with your duffel bag. We both forgot. Sorry, Rich, should've locked the door to give you some warning."

"Hey, no problem. Did I interrupt anything or just wake you up?"

Aidan stalked to the kitchen to get her sword and called over her shoulder, "Woke us up."

Rich eyed them both and asked, "Do I need to find somewhere else to crash?"

"Gods, no, Rich! You live here. Do you want me to leave?" She moved back toward them, sword sheath slung casually over one shoulder and hip-length hair pouring in a dark mass down her chest.

"Nah, I'm gonna get some sleep myself. Sorry, didn't know you two were...." The younger immortal ran out of words as he worked very hard at keeping his gaze on Aidan's face. Rich wouldn't have minded giving her the long look that body was worth, but he hadn't been invited and he wanted her respect very badly.

Duncan sighed, tying the sash on his robe. "Yeah, well, before tonight we weren't."

Aidan looked at them both and smiled. "I don't think any of us really want to deal with this at two in the morning. Shall I make dinner tonight and we can talk?"

"Me, turn down your cooking? Who are you kidding? Sounds great. See you later this morning, folks." Rich strode off to his room, trying not to crack up where they could hear him. Leave it to Duncan to apologize for having a woman in the loft. So he and Aidan had just become lovers tonight? Definitely a good time for Rich to take a short road trip, maybe down to Mount Hood, or do a run down to that bookstore in Portland for Aidan....

* * * *

Duncan walked into Aidan's kitchen area, aware that he had at least thirty minutes before Rich got there. She glanced over at the elevator, nodded and smiled when she saw him, and stirred the soup again. He took the glass of wine she offered and the kiss, drawing it out as she wrapped her arms around him, one hand playing in the hair at the nape of his neck. Finally he drew back and smiled at her, still holding the Irish woman loosely around the waist.

He smiled, pleasure dancing in dark brown eyes and along the edges of his mouth as he said, "Hello, yourself. I take it we're still friends?"

Grey eyes lit up with an incandescent smile as she replied, "What, I should hold a wonderful night against you? Of course we're still friends. I don't think either of us is looking for this to be a 'love of my life' relationship, but is there some reason we can't be friends who enjoy each other in bed?"

"No reason at all. But what makes you think I'm not looking for a lasting relationship?"

Aidan tightened her arm around him. "I don't think it's what you're looking for with me. We're friends and I hope we always will be. But while the chemistry is wonderful and I love you dearly, Duncan MacLeod, I'm not in love with you. Nor you with me. Not right now. In another year, another decade -- well, who knows?"

The slow smile on Duncan's face warmed Aidan and comforted her as well. "I...." He fell silent when the words wouldn't come, then settled for, "Yes." His arms tightened around her waist, and he kissed her temples, one after the other. "Thank you for worrying."

"I said I love you, beautiful idiot man. That means I want you happy. And we're both in love with Methos; discord between us would make his life... difficult." She shrugged against him, head comfortably settled against his shoulder. "How soon will Rich be here?"

"Another thirty minutes or so, maybe forty. Why?"

"There was something I wanted to give you before he gets here, and something I wanted to ask you, also before he gets here. Hold on, I'll get the present." She handed him the spoon, and Duncan went to check on the soup. It was a thick chicken gumbo and the rice was steaming nearby on the counter. Aidan came back from her desk and handed him a gold and green gift bag.

"What is it?"

Grey eyes dancing, Aidan took a sip of her wine and replied, "A bag, MacLeod. Try opening it. Try unwrapping the contents."

The Scot muttered a few choice comments in Gaelic, perfectly aware that she would understand all of them, and began to excavate the bag, delving for presents. Once the gaily colored tissue paper was unwrapped, Mac found first a bottle of sandalwood-scented massage oil. The next package revealed another container of unscented massage oil. The largest parcel turned out to be a book. Duncan turned it over to see what it was, and had to open it to the first page, because Aidan had bought a fabric book-cover and wrapped the book, cover and all.

What he read brought a flush to his face as Duncan began to blush from forehead and ears all the way down to his shirt collar -- which was as far as Aidan could see, since he wore a long-sleeve shirt. "Aidan, what is this?"

She tilted her head to one side, a bit nervous, but also mischievous. "Well, I thought you might be more comfortable with the idea of a male lover if you had some idea what to expect and a chance to see what you like. So I got you some presents."

"_The Gay Kama Sutra_?" His voice was startled, incredulous and embarrassed. His blush became even more red as he realized why she had put two different oils in the bag.

Now Aidan had that half-amused smile on her face that meant she was controlling her own emotions. "I still remember how nervous I was the first time I went to bed with another woman. We react the same way to some things, I thought--"

"What? That I need an instruction manual? I have tried a few things before, I've been sleeping with Amanda off and on for three hundred years or so." Then Duncan saw the set of her shoulders and realized several things about Aidan's intentions on this, not least that she had meant well and was worried she had offended him. He reached out and hugged her. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I--"

"No, I'm sorry. I'm pushing. I didn't mean to."

"No, you're trying to help. And the bad part is, you're right. I probably will feel better if I have some idea what to expect." More hesitantly than Aidan was used to from him, Duncan asked, "Was it like this for you when you took your first female lover?"

She nodded quietly. "I was scared I wouldn't know what to do, how to please her. And this was three or four hundred BC, Duncan, they didn't have sex manuals where I was."

"Where were you?"

"Persia. I was traveling with Ramirez at that point. Methos had slipped off to do some spying in Sparta and see what was going on with Xenophon. I ended up asking Ramirez for advice." Aidan rolled her eyes, exasperated with her younger self. "Gods, I was young and foolish. And flustered."

"What did he do?" Duncan took an absent-minded sip of his own wine.

"Treated it as completely normal and gave me some suggestions. He told me years later that I had looked so nervous he hadn't had the heart to tease me then. But he gave me grief with it for years afterwards. I'm not trying to push, Dhonnchaidh, but a new lover can make one apprehensive enough. I didn't want you to have the rest of it clouding your pleasure as well."

"You're not pushing, Aidan. Thanks. And thanks for the book cover, too. I don't know how I'd explain this to Rich. I don't think he's quite willing to expand his view of me that much!"

"Well, that was the other thing I wanted to ask you, but -- you haven't found everything in the bag yet."

Trying not to look suspicious or paranoid, Duncan dug further into the bag and found a long, slender vibrator with a bright-blue '1st Prize' ribbon attached. It took a moment for Aidan to recognize the sound coming from behind his hands as reluctant laughter that finally broke free and rang against the walls.

"When you're thorough, woman!" He couldn't help laughing again. "Yeah, you didn't want me unwrapping that with Rich here! So are you going to be there when I read some of this, help me try out a few things?"

Aidan smiled at the speculative tone. "You don't do things halfway, do you, Dhonnchaidh? Think about spending the night, why don't you? However, about Rich. I have a favor to ask."

"Okay, what?" Duncan began idly flipping through the book, occasionally flushing and thinking seriously about making some adjustments in his pants as his imagination began to change faces on the illustrations.

"For the record, I am not trying to steal your student, but if you don't mind, I'm going to see if he'll move in over here. I'd like to offer him room and board on the fourth floor in exchange for doing the renovation and building for me."

That brought Duncan's head up out of his new book. "No, I don't think you're trying to steal him. Do you mind if I ask why?"

"I'm hoping to get over to Europe in late October or early November, Dhonnchaidh. I want this house completed first, which means the fourth floor needs to be converted into a storage area, shelving, bins and all, and a small apartment for any eventual student I take. I've been dreaming about training again, and Rich already speaks French, so it's definitely not him."

Duncan raised an eyebrow at that. He knew about Aidan's premonitions. They were right all too often when she had them. "Right. And I know you hate having unknown people work on your stuff. Well, I'd miss having him around the loft, but he's had his own apartment before. It would be a good deal for him. How much are you wanting him to do? I was hoping he'd run the dojo this winter, while he's off the circuit and I'm in Europe."

"About twenty hours a week would suit me. He mentioned once that he helped you with a house you renovated, so I think he can do this. And I assumed you'd want him to run the dojo. This way, however, he can put aside a lot more of the salary you're paying him. I also have hopes that he'll house-sit for me while I'm in Europe." Aidan stirred the gumbo again and checked on the rice. The antipasto was already made and in the fridge, she knew, and the wine as well.

"He can. Yeah, it's a good set-up all around. You do realize that feeding Rich alone is a good chunk of money?"

Aidan gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Students are always expensive, whether they're mine or a line-brother's. I don't mind that, Duncan. But we both think he can do the work, and this would be good for all three of us. It gives me help, him money, and you privacy. I don't know about you, but I like peace and quiet when I work through things."

The Highlander nodded at that, and Aidan refilled his wine glass and shooed him toward a couch. "Go on, go read. Dinner should be ready in about twenty or so."

When he felt another immortal arrive Duncan casually tucked the book into the gift bag. Aidan turned toward the elevator, throwing knife in hand, then smiled at Rich as he pulled the grate up. "Your timing's good. Wash up, dinner's ready as soon as you are."

"That's a gorgeous bike! When did you get a Harley?" Rich slung his coat on the coat rack and cleaned up quickly as Aidan set rolls, antipasto and tea on the table. Duncan filled glasses while she ladled up rice and gumbo.

"Oh, I took a head yesterday evening and confiscated the cycle." She set the bowls on the table while Rich stared at her.

"You what? Who? What happened?"

"An idiot came looking for Connor at the dojo and Aidan took the challenge. Damn near got her arms shattered, but she won. Barely."

The irritated, sarcastic tone brought a raised eyebrow from her, then Rich snickered as Aidan stuck her tongue out at Duncan's glare. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, MacLeod. Admit it, you wanted the pleasure of killing him yourself because he annoyed you."

"'Annoyed'? He needed a good killing."

"Um, excuse me, guys, but did I hear Connor? And arms shattered? How about telling me the rest of this story?" Rich waved a roll between them to get their attention and then pried the story out of both of them in a more coherent order. His only comment at the end was, "Sure, I'll show you how to ride the bike, Aidan, but we'll need to do something about the papers on it sometime soon. The tags expire in November."

"Speaking of November, I have a favor to ask you."

"This is September. Must be an interesting favor." Rich grinned at her, having already noticed that Mac didn't seem worried about this.

"How would you like a place to stay? More privacy and the rent is right." Aidan gave him an amused look, enjoying the young redhead's easy irreverence.

"What counts?" Rich poured more tea in all three glasses and waited. _This ought to be good._

"Help me with some renovations, primarily the fourth floor, and get free room and board up there in return." She shrugged, mobile face showing a wicked enjoyment of the whole situation. "I need the help, all three of us can use the privacy, and I feed well."

Rich grinned at that. "Yeah, and I eat a lot. Look, Aidan, is this just so you and Mac can have some privacy, are you doing the charity thing, or do you really need some help here?"

Duncan commented, "Rich, if it was just privacy, we could come over here. I spend enough time here as it is. But Aidan has this phobia about strange people working on her house or moving her possessions."

"MacLeod! I do not! I'm cautious, not paranoid." Her expression was genuinely offended.

"You're two thousand and some, you're entitled to be paranoid," Rich pointed out.

"I am not paranoid. There are quite a few people out to get me, that's all." She took a sip of her tea, trying not to chuckle at the startled grin on Duncan's face. "Anyway, think about it and let me know, Rich. I already promised Duncan that I'm not trying to poach his student. If you're interested, wonderful. If not, I'll find some way to get it done before I go out of town. I just don't know how, yet."

Rich eyed Mac thoughtfully, then replied, "Yeah, tell you what, I'll let you know tomorrow, okay? In the meantime, do we actually need to talk about last night? I mean, it's no skin off my nose if you two are sleeping together. You're both over eighteen, right?"

Aidan replied thoughtfully, "Decades? Yes. Hmm, does this count as cradle robbing, do you suppose?"

"I could head home...." The Scot ducked promptly when Aidan tried to swat the back of his head. She continued talking, looking at Rich.

"Actually, I just need to know how much it's going to bother either of you if you walk in on something, Rich. I don't mind that you know who I'm not getting any sleep with, but is it going to bother you to realize your tutor actually gets laid?"

Rich snorted. "Hell, I knew when Mac was getting laid. And yeah, I know, you're female, it makes a difference. Big deal. I don't want to train with someone I'm sleeping with, but other than that? No problem."

She waited expectantly for Mac's answer and he only replied, "No, I was more worried about your reputation than mine. I don't like an audience myself, but that's about it. Rich, I'll start locking the elevator again to let you know if I have company."

"That'll work, Mac. Assuming I'm over there, anyway. Now if I move over here, I can still run the dojo for you, that's no problem. I'll even have a back-up teacher on hand when--" Rich stopped when Aidan shook her head. "I won't?"

"I'll be here until the book's finished, but I haven't been to Paris in years and I'm headed over myself late this fall. I was hoping to talk you into house-sitting for me when I go."

Rich rewarded her with a skeptical look. "Why do I hear a con job here? Are you sure this isn't a charity gig?"

"Yes, idiot. Do you have any idea how much I would hate having to close up the house, lock everything away, dust-cover the whole mess, appoint power-of-attorney for some banker to pay bills and handle problems.... Feh. It's worth paying the utilities, cable and such to have you here while I'm gone, and then some! All I ask is that you pay for your own long-distance bills and your own booze. Food I consider a more than reasonable fee."

Aidan's mouth twisted in disgust and she leaned back in her chair, arms folded over her chest. "You have no idea what I get like at the end of a manuscript. Bitchy really doesn't cover it. If I had to shut this place down on top of finishing that.... I'd move again. It would be easier!"

That made both men choke, and Duncan groaned. "Oh, my aching back. I remember unloading that van! I'll find you a house-sitter, all right?"

Rich grinned and said, "Okay, if it isn't charity, I'll do it. Do I need to borrow furniture from Mac again?"

His choice of verbs drew a raised eyebrow from Aidan but she only said, "There's furniture already up there, but if you'd rather we'll move it into storage. Your choice."

Duncan commented, "Well, if you're going to move in over here, let me know if you want any of your stuff from the warehouse."

"Will do, Mac. So, what's for dessert?" Rich cheerfully deflected the conversation over to immortals Aidan and Mac had known and liked. The impromptu wake for Hugh FitzCairn lasted well into the late hours of the night.

* * * *

Joe wiped down the last glass and glanced around to see who was still in his bar. "Aidan still working?"

"Yeah, she said something about getting some epigrams done while the George Carlin special was on. Apparently he's the perfect background noise for translating Martial's couplets." Duncan sipped at his whiskey. "Now I know who Martial is, but Carlin?"

"Great comedian, Mac. He's the one who has the list of words you can't say on commercial TV and will work his way down the entire scroll on HBO. Some really good routines about politics, too. Now, which one was Martial?"

"Roman comedic writer, very sarcastic couplets. Let's see, how did one that go in English? 'The golden hair that Galla wears is hers; who would have thought it? She swears 'tis hers, and true she swears, for I know where she bought it.' "

Joe snorted. "Sounds like Michael Jackson's skin. Yeah, I can see where those two go together." He walked to the door and locked up the bar, then came back and sat down next to Mac.

"So, you want to hear the latest Watcher absurdity?" Joe sipped at his drink as he waited, deliberately drawing this out.

"Sure. What now? Am I eating small children for breakfast ?" Mac poured himself another shot of Scotch, enjoying a new single-malt Joe had imported.

"Nah. I hear Rich Ryan took out Ned White in pouring rain, using a curved sword of some kind. It had to be Rich because you were there and White lost his head to someone a few inches shorter than you with a thick saber. I didn't argue with Jake, just played world-weary and said that would explain Ryan's behavior lately." Joe shook his head ruefully. "I don't know how much longer this can last. Sooner or later some other Watcher is going to figure out that there's a female immortal in town and I'm gonna catch some serious hell. The woman just will not back down from a fight, will she?"

"Not that I've noticed, no. And I agree, our luck's been too good. Cassandra's Watcher never expected a five AM duel. I have no idea how the Watcher or Watchers in Toronto missed Aidan."

Joe interrupted quietly, "They didn't entirely. There's a general alert out about an unknown immortal on the East Coast, old and good. But the Watcher on those two wasn't willing to go into the bar where the fight took place. Place has a dangerous reputation after midnight."

Duncan blinked. "I didn't think anything was bad enough to keep some Watchers out. You all followed Melvin Koren for God's sake. And the Kurgan."

"Mac, it turns out that people who go into The Raven after one or so in the morning don't always come back out. That simple. The cops haven't noticed because there are never bodies -- we think. Think about this, Mac. As far as we can tell a fight went on in the middle of a nightclub, three women with swords, and no one called the police? And Aidan doesn't know about the Watchers yet so I can't ask her what the deal is with that place, but I am u&gt;really looking forward to the story.

"Anyway, no, we don't know who killed Mari and Stephanie. They always fought as a team, by the way. Remind me to get that story out of Aidan, will you? I want to hear how she won at two-on-one odds. As for Stengel, there were no good sight-lines on that, and I just mentioned that you do usually keep to yourself or with one or two friends for awhile after a Quickening. Completely true, but it did let Mikhail assume you killed his subject."

Duncan sipped the Scotch, then contemplated the greying Watcher with a steady gaze. "Luck like this can't hold, Joe. When are you going to tell her?"

"About the Watchers? As soon as I can figure out how. Not before she finishes the manuscript, though. The woman's working herself into the ground now to finish it. If she weren't an immortal, I'd worry about her health." Joe sighed. "I don't figure she needs the money, Mac, why is she pushing so hard to do this?"

Duncan stretched back in his chair. "Because she loves it, Joe. Aidan loved living in Rome, going to the plays, corresponding with some of the philosophers and politicians. If you ever want to expand your vocabulary of profanity in eight dozen languages, ask her about the arson at the Library of Alexandria and what that did to the library of Roman plays. She spent twelve years as a slave in that city, and she still loves the culture. So she wants other people to understand it and appreciate it, too."

"Is that where she was a slave? What happened, do you know?" Joe sat up eagerly, attention piqued.

"Not for sure. All she ever says is that she missed a meeting with Methos and his students of the time and they came looking for her. I think she was someone's mistress at the best, more likely she was owned by a brothel. She did a strip-tease for Connor once that left him speechless. But I don't know. Methos hasn't told me and I've never wanted to ask her. It's still a tender subject."

"After two thousand years. Gotta be rough, carrying memories like that. You know, Mac, even with my legs and old age trying to ambush me, I don't envy you. I've got four decades of loves, hates, and regrets, and that's plenty for me. You pack so much into your life.... I'm always impressed you can stand up under the weight of it." The mortal's words trailed off, embarrassed at what he was saying.

MacLeod met Joe's eyes, acceptance and forgiveness across the gaze without the words being spoken. Both of them heard the silent answer. _We do it because the alternative is death, and too likely that death would be at the hands of someone who should never have the Prize. We do it because that's what we are, and we take what joys we can, when we can._

Out loud, though, the immortal only answered, "Yeah, well, all that weightlifting is good for something. Look, Joe, so that you'll have some early warning on this, I'm heading to Paris on the 17th. Do you want me to pick up your ticket with mine? I was thinking about using some of my Frequent Flyer miles to bump you up into first class."

"Charity, Mac?" Joe's gruff voice sounded irritated and scornful.

"No, I want some civilized conversation on an eight hour flight. And I haven't tweaked the Tribunal's noses lately. Perfect combination."

The aging bluesman chuckled at that. "Damn straight. I take it you heard some of Adam's stories about the salesman with grandbaby pictures?"

"Oh, yeah. I also heard Aidan complain about how long it took to straighten out his back when he hit town, and he did fly the Atlantic portion first class. Personally, I don't think you want us to take four hours to work out your muscles. At least with Aidan doing it you can enjoy the scenery; with Adam you have to see past the nose."

Joe did laugh at that. "All right, Mac, I'll let you do your good karma for the day. Let me know how much I owe you for the ticket."

"Sure. Just as soon as you let me know what I'd owe you for a case of this Scotch. Connor would love this for Christmas," Duncan replied. They haggled amiably over that as they shut down the bar for the night.

* * * *

Silence descended over Aidan's room, broken only by panting breaths easing into a slower, deeper pattern. Slowly, carefully, she withdrew the toy and set it to one side for clean-up later, pleased to see that Duncan didn't flinch. He wrapped one arm around her without a word as she settled against his side.

"Love? You all right?" Her quiet voice, softened by passion and pleasure, eased into the night without disturbing the peace that had settled over them.

"You have to ask? Thank you, that was wonderful."

He even sounded sated, Aidan noticed with amusement, and she curled closer. One hand stroked idly across his chest as she soothed Duncan down into sleep. After a long while, she eased out of the bed and washed off the vibrator then swiped at her face with a cloth.

It had been a while since she had drawn out teasing like that and Dhonnchaidh had nearly crushed her ribs when she finally eased the vibrator into him. She knew that he liked to wrap his legs around her when she went down on him, but the added stimulation to the prostate had made his reaction a good bit less controlled than usual. If she hadn't been an immortal, her mouth would still be bruised. _I'll have to tease him about grabbing my hair, too -- later._

When she climbed back in bed, skin cool from the night air, Duncan reached over and pulled her in against his warmth. Cradled in his arms, head pillowed on that broad chest, she said, "I thought you were asleep."

"No, just listening to you. Did you know you hum when you're happy?"

"Do I still? Talk about an old habit." Aidan curled into the embrace and deliberately hummed against him to listen to the resonance. "I'd forgotten I do it, I never notice the sound."

"Don't stop, it sounds nice." Skilled fingers began teasing tangles out of her hair, easing through the strands in one of Duncan's favorite pastimes. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"You didn't notice?" She chuckled at that question. "Yes, Dhonnchaidh, I did."

"I haven't had a lover who enjoyed my pleasure so much since Tessa."

"I wish I had met her. From what you and Rich have told me, I would have liked her very much. And I can tell you loved her dearly." Aidan sighed quietly then continued, "There's something I think we need to discuss."

Duncan felt the tension in her body, heard it in the unhappy resignation in her voice. "What's wrong?"

Aidan sighed again. "Do you remember that I once said I didn't want explosive surprises between us?"

"Yes, and I told you that accepting you was my problem, not yours. You're two and a half thousand years old and physically weaker than I am. I've never asked you what happened when you were a slave and I'm not asking what else you've done to keep your head on your shoulders." He tightened his grip around her torso, hugging her so fiercely Aidan could barely breathe. "I don't want to hear it. You're a good friend and a wonderful lover. If you thought you had to do something, then you did."

"Dhonnchaidh, will you take my word that, for the most part, anything I've done seemed like the best way at the time? Hindsight being what it is, sometimes I see alternate paths and curse myself, but...." She fell silent, and Duncan tilted her chin up from where she had her nose buried in his chest.

"Enough, Aidan. I trust you. No matter what, no matter who tells me, I trust you. Come on, how many women would I let near me with a vibrator?" As he had expected, that drew a chuckle.

"Good point. All right, don't say I didn't try." She tugged gently at chest hairs and snuggled closer. "So, do I see you off at the airport.... Tomorrow? It's late enough that this is really yesterday's tomorrow, isn't it? I must be tired, that makes no sense."

"Tuesday. You see us off at the airport Tuesday. I'd like it, but I know you're busy with the last indexing on your manuscript."

"Hmmph. As if that would be enough reason to miss seeing you off. Joe's going, too. I'm going to miss you both, you realize." The tone of voice remained light, but the brief pause before the last sentence spoke volumes about her feelings.

"We'll miss you, too, but the end of October will be here before you know it."

"True enough. How are you going to... hmm, not to put too fine a point on it, how are you going to shake Joe long enough to seduce Methos?" Now the voice was merely curious.

"Joe has other friends in Paris than just me. He won't be staying on the barge, if that's what you're wondering. Do you want me to let you know if I have any luck getting Methos into bed, or shall I surprise you with it when you get to France?"

That drew an approving noise from her. "You're picking up some of my habits, Dhonnchaidh. That was blunt enough for me or Connor. And I rarely push a man to kiss and tell, so as you like." She yawned widely. "It's sorry I am to say it, but we'd best sleep. You have to finish packing today, and Rich and I need to finish installing the spiral stair tomorrow. Today?" She glanced at the clock and frowned. "In eight hours. Damn."

"That's today, definitely." He reached over and adjusted the blanket over her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her as he did so. "Sleep well, then."

"And you, Duncan." She yawned again, then murmured, "Besides, I already left you a surprise in Paris." She fell asleep before he could cajole an explanation out of her.

* * * *

Disgust dripped from her voice and oozed down almost visibly to corrode the vinyl floor as Aidan commented, "I loathe airports, you realize, MacLeod, and I have spent more time in the damnable and thrice-damned things since I met you than I have in the last ten years -- all of it watching people leave."

A crooked grin spread across Joe's face at that. Leave it to Aidan to be so eloquent about her distaste for an institution, if only to mask her own feelings about the actions accomplished within that institution. Out loud he only said, "Darlin', if it's driving you that crazy, head on home. It's a morning flight in fall. We're almost certainly going to be delayed for fog anyway. Go on, kiss Mac good-bye and get back to work so you can head over yourself in a few weeks."

Her smile was as crooked as his as the Irish immortal replied, "And lose you two sooner than needs must be? No, I'll wait. I'll even try to cultivate patience, Joe. Sorry."

Duncan wrapped his arms around her waist. "Easy, Edana, easy, alanna. I didnae know you misliked the places so." The soft Gaelic words went no further than her ears, and Joe decided to contemplate the people walking down the concourse rather than intrude on his two friends.

"It's sorry I am to be acting such a fool, Dhonnchaidh." Her own Gaelic was spoken as quietly as his, but with the subtly different lilt of Ireland. " 'Tis no' even the place so much, though 'tis as lifeless and barren as any surgeon's steel cage. I'm but a fool, missing you before you've properly gone."

"Nay, we are going and leaving you with the younglings to watch over and your own task to accomplish. Small wonder you're feeling alone already. Or are you worrying about something else? I'll nae steal him from you, lass, nor try."

Aidan turned swiftly within his arm. "It's no' that, Dhonnchaidh, truly. I'll miss ye both and no mistake, but I was no' thinking that of ye. And it's no' the Sight. I'm just in the grip of the blacks. Or the blues, as Seohnchaidh there would call them. I'll be well enough, dinna fash yourself over it."

Duncan kissed her lightly on top of her head and commented, "You'll be fine, lass, and so busy keeping my student out of mischief, that 'twill be Samhain before you know it. I'll even make Adam keep the bed warm for you."

"Hah! You'd best be helping him keep it warm or it's words I'll be havin' with ye, MacLeod, d'ye hear me? Culcheen!"

Duncan grinned at her and deliberately switched back to English. "Case of the blues, huh? I'd say that did it. You're smiling again."

Joe glanced at them and asked, "So do I get to pay attention again, or do I keep studying the fascinating brawl coming up between three and five year olds over there?"

"You can pay attention, Joe." Aidan sat down next to him. "By the bye, are you ever going to tell me why you're going to Paris for a few months?" The serious expression she received startled her no end; Aidan had thought it a fairly frivolous question, small talk.

"Yeah, darlin', ask me when you get that manuscript finished, all right? Ask me when you get over."

The harried stewardess called the older passengers and those with children to board as the flight was ready. Aidan muttered to herself, "Finally."

Joe pushed up to his feet and glanced at Aidan. "Seriously, Aidan, try to save me some time when you hit Paris. All four of us have got to have a long talk."

Duncan laughed. "Better plan on late November, Joe. We're going to keep her kind of busy when she hits town. When's the last time you've been to the Louvre?"

She leaned up and whispered, "Oh, 1920-something?"

Joe laughed and said, "Right, at least a week after she hits town. No problem, Mac. Will do."

"Now boarding First Class for Flight 1807 to New York."

Aidan reached up to Duncan and kissed him as thoroughly as she had Methos when he left. He caught her hands before she could push the decency laws too hard. "Behave, woman."

"If I have to," she replied, and promptly kissed Joe on the cheek. "Keep him out of trouble, if you can."

Joe waved a hand at his cane. "Me? Keep him out of trouble? How?"

Aidan shrugged, donning her best 'sober, staid pillar of the community' demeanor. "I have great faith in you, Joe."

Duncan picked up the two carry-on bags. "Shall we? Aidan, I'll call you as soon as I get the phone hooked back up on the barge."

"You'd better, Duncan." Aidan stood on tiptoe and whispered in Gaelic, "I love you, Dhonnchaidh."

Duncan turned as she headed away from them, startled at some tone of her voice. "Aidan, I thought you said...."

Over her shoulder, the departing immortal called, "It's a woman's prerogative, MacLeod."

Joe followed MacLeod to present their boarding passes. Once the bags were stowed and the two men were comfortably settled in their seats, he did have to ask. "So, what did she change her mind about, Mac? Or should I ask?"

His immortal friend smiled, surprised at his own bewildered, off-balance reactions. "She has the most unique ways of saying 'I love you', Joe, and the most precise use of that verb I've ever seen." Deliberately changing the subject, the Scot asked, "So, what do you think we should go do tonight while we're in New York? Music, food, Connor's latest stories?"

Aidan meanwhile walked out of the airport without looking back. Long years of practice let her push her mind ahead to plans for the day, projects for the next few weeks, and a shopping list to take care of later in the week. _Eight weeks. I can do fifty-six days standing on my head if need be. But I do wonder how Duncan will like the love letter I posted last week. It should be waiting for him when he gets to the barge._

So. Enough of that. I still wonder if there isn't a better wording on that speech of Cicero's. Gods, who was consul that year? Am I just missing a reference somewhere? It would be one of the nouns that can mean half a dozen different things in English. Oh, well, if this were easy, they wouldn't have hired me. Let's see, if I check in Suetonius and in Gibbons....

Epilogue

In the waiting area across the concourse, a nicely dressed young woman sat and waited, presumably for her flight. She watched Aidan walk out the door, noted the time down in her notebook, then stood and followed her out the door at an unobtrusive distance. MacLeod had already checked his luggage and boarded his flight; she might as well follow this woman back to her destination before closing the assignment.

Well, this surveillance was over and the report probably wasn't going to get her a bonus. The subject ran a martial arts school, for God's sake. Yesterday, MacLeod went running, did some shopping, and taught classes in the morning. The rest of the day he stayed home and packed. A young man in jeans and a workman's tool belt had left the gym around ten on a motorcycle. She couldn't tell for sure if the redhead lived there or not, but he didn't seem to be MacLeod's lover. If he was, they concealed it well, to the point of having lights on and off at differing intervals in different rooms of that apartment.

Students came and went all day, but MacLeod only taught in the morning. Another man took the afternoon classes. Around six-thirty, an older gentleman who walked with a cane had arrived. He and MacLeod had left together, driving to what looked like a warehouse. The motorcycle had been parked outside. At half past eight, MacLeod, the older man, and the young redhead all came out, talking and joking. From the body language, they were all good friends. A dark-haired woman had walked them out to the cars then headed back inside the warehouse before they left.

This morning, the same woman had picked up MacLeod and his luggage in a new model Range Rover. The man with the cane had been in the truck already. She gave both of them a ride to the airport and waited with them for the flight. From MacLeod's behavior, he and the woman definitely were lovers. So, since MacLeod was on his way out of the country -- she had seen the Air France tickets in his portfolio -- at least his lover might yield some more information for the final report to the customer.

The young investigator had license plates on the red-haired worker's motorcycle, the Ford that the older man had arrived in, and the woman's Range Rover, but her instructions had been very specific. Observation only, from no less than fifty yards, details to be provided, but no data-base searches were to be run, no favors called in at the precinct to check the tags or licenses. Nothing.

She'd broken the rule on the distance in the airport, but there'd been no help for that. So, follow this one long enough to make sure MacLeod's lover went back to the warehouse again? Maybe the woman was an artist? The windows on that building ought to give good light all day. Certainly city records needed to be checked, to see who held the deed.

Once the day's surveillance was done, shifted to this new candidate, she'd send the report in and the money would be wired to her account. The whole thing was a weird damn assignment, but they were prepared to pay three times her going rate and bills had to get paid somehow.  


_~ ~ ~ finis ~ ~ ~_

 

Comments, Commentary &amp; Miscellanea:

  
1\. Lammas, Lughnasa, or Loafmas is August 1. It was one of the old Celtic festivals of sacrifice (one of three - the other two are generally considered to be Autumnal Equinox (9/21, usually) and Samhain (October 31)). The festival celebrates Lugh's union with the earth goddess and its proving by the crops finally ripening. (Archeologist, philologists, and pagans of various types are still debating what was sacrificed and why, but there seems to be a common agreement that some kind of sacrifice was made on these dates.) The Christian church turned it into Loafmas, a celebration of the earth's bounty.

2\. Yes, that really is what festival means.

3\. Risteard -- the Gaelic of Richard.

4\. Tam Lin can be found in _Childe's Ballads_, or in an excellent retelling set in modern times written by Pamela Dean called _Tam Lin_. Lugh Samildanach can be found in Gerhard Helm's _The Celts_ or in any collection of Irish fairy tales &amp; myths.

5\. Is anyone sure how many kinds of swords Duncan has used? I counted at least five: claymore/Scottish greatsword, katana, cavalry saber ('Double Jeopardy'), epee ('Star-Crossed'), and rapier &amp; dagger ('Duende'). He used a spear in 'Line of Fire'. Did I miss anything?

6\. Yes, Mary Renault is an excellent source for Greek belief and behavior from the earliest days of Athens through the aftermath of Alexander the Great's death. Judith Tarr's _Lord of Two Lands_ is also informative. Marcus Aurellius was a philosopher-Emperor in Rome in the second century. His works are excellent examples of Stoic thought, a philosophy many notable (and influential) Romans followed.

7\. The definition of love is Robert Heinlein's, quoted from the novel _Time Enough for Love_. There are very good reasons why the man won four Nebulas and was awarded the title Grand Master of Science Fiction. If you haven't read him, you're probably in for a treat.

8\. Ned White -- ech. Well, there have to be idiot immortals out there somewhere, but I doubt they last long....

9\. My professor thinks Suetonius was a decent historian with unprecedented (until then) access to Imperial &amp; Senatorial archives. I think he was a gossipmonger who'd have made a very good living writing for some of today's scandal rags. Read _Lives of the Twelve Caesars_ and decide for yourself.

10\. Nick Knight of Toronto is from the TV show _Forever Knight_, frequently shown in reruns on the SciFi channel and finally out on DVD. He's also a friend of Aidan's, who, as a vampire, has a certain stake in making sure immortality doesn't become widely known. (Sorry for the bad pun, couldn't resist leaving it in.)

11\. Tulwars have to be seen to be believed, but they're basically a wider, heavy-bladed saber.

12\. A book of hours is a medieval church work which lists the different offices and verses appropriate to the days of the year. Usually they were the property of nobles and highly illuminated. Consider a work of art in book form and you won't be far off.

13\. Hops &amp; catnip are for headaches; lemon balm is for stress; rosemary is a digestive tonic; and mint soothes frazzled nerves. Check with an herbalist before using some of them; catnip and hops can set off allergies.

14\. David Ogden Stiers provided the voice of the incredibly stuffy clock in Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_, which is where Aidan stole the quote from.

15\. Yes, there really is a _Gay Kama Sutra._ One of my beta readers loaned it to me when I was trying to figure out what Aidan would have gotten Duncan. (Although, in retrospect, I do think _The Joy of Gay Sex_ would have been better. Oops?)

16\. Xenophon, who was an Athenian student of Socrates, ended up leading a mercenary army known as the Ten Thousand which fought for the Persians. His books are an interesting view of Greek life in that period, and are extremely useful for such things as horsemanship, cavalry tactics, and dinner-party gossip of the time period. By the bye -- he was notorious (and occasionally subject to some derision) for being completely _hetero_sexual.

17\. Sorry, no idea whose translation of Martial that is. I remember it vividly from high school, though.

18\. The Raven? See "Shadow Plays". Yes, there is a good reason they didn't call they cops.

19\. Who hired the PI? Check back later. The storm's coming.

**Author's Note:**

> The next story up is [Prelude To The Storm](http://archiveofourown.org/works/290362), which starts off the Line War.


End file.
